


The Scars On Our Hearts

by aewgliriel



Series: Even The Stars Burn [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Childbirth, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 45,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewgliriel/pseuds/aewgliriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a terrorist attacks Starfleet, a young Starfleet Intelligence operative finds the man she loved never existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before, during, and post-"Star Trek Into Darkness" and will contain spoilers for the film. I don't own any of the characters or places from the "Star Trek" franchise and they are not used with permission or for financial gain.

**\--Prologue--**  
  
  
 _Starfleet Headquarters_  
 _San Francisco, CA_  
 _2260.10_  
  
The rechristening had gone well, Jim Kirk thought, as the crowd began to disperse. He waved at his crew and grinned, stepping off the podium to join them.  
  
"Captain Kirk?"  
  
Jim turned, eyeing the woman who had approached. She wore a dark grey suit with a Starfleet insignia pinned to it, indicating she was an employee, but not part of fleet operations. The accent said she was from somewhere in the British Isles. Her hair was medium brown and sleek, falling in layers to her shoulders. Her eyes were grey, set in a pretty but gaunt and tired face. She was too young to look that weary.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I . . ." She swallowed and tears welled in her eyes. "I wanted to say that I'm so, so sorry for . . . everything. I had no idea-"  
  
He realised that she'd set a baby-carrier pod by her feet; the infant in it had black hair and blue, blue eyes. Even though the child couldn't have been more than two months old, the intelligence in those wide-set eyes couldn't be mistaken.  
  
He looked back up to her in alarm. "That isn't-"  
  
She smiled, a little tremulously. "I know your reputation, Captain Kirk, but no, I'm not here on a bid for child support or . . . anything like that."  
  
"What _are_ you here for, Miss . . .?"  
  
"Missus, actually," she corrected softly. "My name is Anthea Harrison."  
  
Kirk's blue eyes suddenly got big as dinner plates. " _Harrison_?" he repeated in disbelief. "You mean, you're-"  
  
"Yes," she said, and made a shushing motion with her hand. "Yes, I'm- I suppose I'm still married to him. That is, if . . ."  
  
He heaved a huge sigh. "I think we need to have a very long talk."  
  


* * *

  
Kirk had an office in the big building behind them, and he summoned Spock, McCoy, and Uhura to join him and his, er, guest there. He watched her cautiously, as they all found seating, but Anthea was obviously unarmed, and most of her attention was on the baby she had with her.  
  
He found himself fixated on that baby, even as he said, "Guys, this is a really weird situation, but . . ."  
  
"Captain, have you been approached about paternity?" Spock asked.  
  
A glance at his first officer told him that the Vulcan was, in a rare moment, making a joke. "Thanks, Spock," Kirk said wryly. "But no. This is . . . Well, why don't you introduce yourself?"  
  
Anthea folded her hands in her lap. "Um. I'm a- or, I _was_ , an archives specialist in London. I know that you're aware the London archives were largely a cover for the weapons research department there. Section 31. I was mostly there to provide employees for the archives, but I also acted as an assistant to some of the agents working in the weapons department. Technically speaking, I was an operative, though I've never done field work."  
  
Spock narrowed his eyes at her. "And you managed to escape the destruction. How?"  
  
"I was on holiday," she said with a shrug. "Visiting my mum in Edinburgh. That's probably why he chose then, now that I think about it. I didn't have any knowledge that-"  
  
She let out a long, low sigh. "My name is Anthea Harrison. My husband- I _thought_ his name was John, but I suppose it isn't. I didn't know 'til after everything he did that his name is really Khan."  
  
She looked at every face in turn, then said, "I suppose I should start at the beginning, and the day I met John Harrison."


	2. Chapter One

**\--Chapter One--**

_London_   
_2258.90_

"This is not what I joined Starfleet for."

"What was that, Thee?"

Anthea Mackintosh turned in her chair and frowned at her best friend and co-worker, Lindy. "This. This is not what I joined Starfleet for!"

"You didn't join for the oh-so-glamourous opportunity to pretend we're archivists?" Lindy retorted with feigned shock. "I had no idea!"

Anthea snorted a laugh. "Seriously, though, I didn't spend three years at the academy to man a desk like this."

"Someone's got to do it, and if you think about it, we're in the position to know just about everything." Lindy leaned back in her seat and took a sip from her coffee mug. "Word is that Marcus is visiting today."

Mentally groaning, Anthea shook her head. She didn't care for the head of Starfleet. There was just something off about the bloke. Most of the higher-ups were egotistical, but something about Admiral Marcus seemed oily.

"Also," Lindy continued, "there's a new name on the high-clearance list. Commander John Harrison. You hear of him?"

"No, but that means very little." Anthea, bored and curious, pulled up the dossier on this Commander Harrison. She flinched a little when his image came up; even in two-dimensions, the man had a presence, didn't he?

"That face just screams 'I'm a spy'," Lindy whispered. "I think he'll fit in perfectly 'round here."

Anthea skimmed the file, then closed it. She had the clearance for all but the highest level of security, since she frequently had to run errands all over the complex. Still, she didn't want to be flagged for spending too much time in anyone's file.

It was after lunch when Admiral Marcus finally made his appearance, followed by his newest acquisition.

"He's a bit funny-looking, isn't he?" Lindy nudged Anthea in the side with her elbow as she whispered.

Anthea followed her friend's gaze to the new commander, standing over with Admiral Marcus, dressed in head-to-toe black. She didn't think Commander Harrison was "funny-looking". True, his light eyes were narrow and wide-set, but so were lots of peoples', especially with all the aliens running around. He wore his black hair swept back from his angular face, showing off high cheekbones.

"You're staring," Lindy hissed in her ear.

Jerking her gaze back to her workstation, Anthea blushed.

As the men approached, snatches of Admiral Marcus's words reached the pair at the main archive desk.

"-named for the USS Kelvin, which was destroyed by Romulans back in 2233, you remember."

"Yes, I do recall that."

Good heavens, the man's voice was deep. It was surprising to hear.

The admiral's gaze swept across the room, passed over Anthea, then came back and stopped. "You. Name?"

She snapped to attention. "Anthea Mackintosh, sir."

"And what do you do here?"

"I'm an archives specialist. I assist visitors with the-"

"Not anymore. You're gonna be Commander Harrison's assistant." Marcus stepped away from the desk, obviously expecting her to follow though he issued no command to that effect.

Anthea gulped and quickly gathered her things, scurrying after the two men as quickly as she could manage in her heeled boots. She caught up with them at the lift and got on just before the doors closed.

Admiral Marcus barely noticed her, but the commander immediately gave her the once-over. This close, she could see his eyes were not the blue she'd assumed from across the room, but a pale grey-green with just hints of azure.

She realised she was staring again when one corner of his full mouth quirked up. Anthea quickly looked down at the PADD in her hands. She cleared her throat.

"Admiral, sir, am I to understand that I will not be a general assistant to the others, from this point?"

"Right. I'll find someone to replace you at the archive. From now on, you report only to Commander Harrison. Your security clearances will be adjusted accordingly."

"Yes, sir."

The admiral gave Harrison a tour of the facility, with Anthea following and taking notes when requested. She didn't mind the change of role; it was bound to be more interesting than helping people who wandered into the pretend archive. All employees of the archive knew what its true nature was, to prevent some oblivious non-agent from stumbling into anything classified. Still, her induction into Section 31 had made her expect more than the role of glorified secretary.

Finally, they ended the tour at a recently-renovated section of the facility. The door only had a number, no other labels. The admiral explained that the door opened via retinal scan only. Marcus did something with his own PADD, and then let them into the office.

At first, that's all it seemed to be. There was a desk with a computer station, and two chairs opposite. Behind the desk was another door, this one unmarked. Without a word, Marcus led them through the second door.

The office here was much larger, though "office" didn't seem to be the right word. True, it had a desk and a fancier computer system. But there, all resemblance to "office" ended. One wall was covered floor-to-ceiling with cabinets, a second with a long counter and various equipment Anthea couldn't begin to identify. The rest of the room was filled with . . . things. Tables, chairs, more machines.

"If anything here doesn't suit your needs, and you need to upgrade, go for it," Marcus was saying to Harrison. "You also have access to the rest of the facility and its staff, and you'll oversee a private staff for everything we discussed. If there's anything you're not sure how to find, I'm sure Agent . . ."

"Mackintosh, sir."

"Agent Mackintosh will be able to help you. I'll check in frequently." The admiral's gaze went hard, his voice from jovial to icy. "And while I expect you'll need to perform recon trips, I need to be informed."

"Yes, I am quite aware, Admiral." Harrison's voice was equally chilled, face expressionless. "Thank you. I am sure that if I have further questions, I will let you know."

The men stared at each other for a long, tense moment, then the admiral stalked out.

Anthea blinked. "Well. That was . . ."

"Forget about it. The admiral and I don't see eye-to-eye on a few things, is all." The commander looked her way. "We have not been properly introduced. I am John Harrison."

She offered her hand. "Anthea Mackintosh. Lovely to meet you."

He shook her hand. His skin was warm, grip solid but not too firm. "To use a very antiquated phrase, what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Anthea wandered over to the nearest piece of lab equipment and poked a finger at it. "I was recruited while in the academy. Amongst the reasons cited were an 'aptitude for understanding when the ends justify the means outside of Starfleet regulations', and a 'penchant for thinking outside the box in problem solving'."

"Both of which will serve well here. For now, I need to get acquainted with my laboratory. And you needn't feign interest in the synchronic metre, Agent Mackintosh."

She had to smile at that. "Isn't that for transporters?"

"Yes. One of the many projects I have been . . . requested to develop, is a portable transwarp device."

"So you're an engineer."

His face was unreadable. "Of sorts. You should probably get yourself settled in the outer office, Agent Mackintosh. We shall likely be here for some time."

"Anthea," she told him. "Call me Anthea."

Harrison's expression didn't change, but there was a bit more warmth in his voice. "Anthea, then."

As she went to get her new desk organised, she tried not to think about how good her name sounded coming from his lips.


	3. Chapter Two

**\--Chapter Two--**

Anthea was not a technical whiz. Honestly, she was good with knowing how to operate a computer and how to pilot a ship. Anything beyond that, like developing all of the above, she left to the experts.

Of which Commander John Harrison was most definitely one.

Still, she noticed every once in a while that he seemed to not know what some things were, or when certain events occurred. Those happened less and less as the weeks went on, and eventually, she forgot about the first few incidents.

While the projects he was working on were rather over her head, the job was much, much more interesting than anything she'd previously done. Her main duties were keeping him organised-and occasionally, reminding him to eat-and taking or returning messages when he was eyeballs-deep in some weapon design or other.

She had no problem with what Section 31 did. When the Romulans had attacked earlier in the year, it became apparent that they really needed better ways to defend themselves. Starfleet was for exploration, true, but there were unknown dangers out there, and they needed to be prepared.

Especially if the Klingons made any sort of move.

"So what does this one do?" she asked Harrison, when she poked her head in to check if he was still breathing. He hadn't emerged from the lab in several hours, and she hadn't had anything to do. Curiosity, and a need to hear him say something, anything-which she insisted to herself meant absolutely nothing-had her sticking her nose in even though he'd asked not to be disturbed.

"Heat-based matter disruptor, probably in cannon form. I haven't completely decided yet. Needs to be large to handle enough power to take out a Bird of Prey, but it would be nice to have it sized for use as a soldier armament."

She arched a brow. "Isn't that overkill?"

He smiled, though he didn't look up. "There is no such thing around here as 'overkill'. Everything tells me that Klingons are formidable and not easily defeated. I intend to not only even the odds, but tip them in our favour."

"Sound reasoning. Now, you do realise that you've been in here seven hours without a break? Have you eaten at all today?"

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Have I? I vaguely recall breakfast. You should go home, if it's that late."

"And leave you to keep at this all night? I'm supposed to take care of you, Commander, and letting you starve while you tinker with things that go boom is not one of my duties. C'mon. Let's go for dinner, and _then_ I'll leave you to your toys."

He raised those pale eyes to her, amusement clearly written in them although he didn't smile this time. "I will agree to your terms."

"Good. There's a fantastic Chinese takeaway two blocks from here that's open twenty-four/seven."

* * *

John ordered dim sum and sweet and sour chicken, while Anthea got General Tso's chicken. They split noodles between them.

"Isn't that spicy?" he inquired.

"Sometimes I like a little danger," she said with a laugh. "This place has the best I've had, so I always get it here, and other things elsewhere."

"Mm." He took a sip of his water, but didn't comment. Still, he studied her with those disconcerting eyes.

Anthea had to look away. She turned her gaze to the holographic display under the surface of the table. "Hmm. I was born in 2230, so . . . my Chinese astrological sign is the Horse. What's yours?"

"The Year of the Dog," he said, without looking at the display.

"Oh," she said in surprise. "That's funny. According to this, that's the sign most compatible with mine! So you were born in 2222? Nice even number, there. Makes you eight years older than me."

He made another non-committal noise. He wasn't much of one for small-talk, so Anthea entertained herself with the tabletop vidscreen turned to some celebrity gossip channel. Their food was out quickly. Anthea requested a fork.

John pause with the chopstick already in his fingers, and raised one dark brow. "Are you unable to use chopsticks, or unwilling?"

"Little of both. I'm clumsy. Harder to send food flying at others with a fork. It's so useful, with its stabby tines."

She looked up and found him grinning. "What?"

"Stabby tines."

"Oh, hush, Mr. Perfect." She stuck her tongue out at him.

He found her teasing enchanting. Most he saw on a day-to-day basis were very formal and distant with him, perhaps sensing some innate danger to John Harrison. But not Anthea. If she felt threatened by him, she never gave a sign of it. She made him feel more human than he had in quite a while.

"Tell me something," she said suddenly.

"What would you like to know?"

"Do you actually like . . . the work we do? It's obvious you're really smart, so I can't help thinking there are more . . . constructive things you could be doing."

John twirled some lo-mein on his chopsticks. "I do not . . . dislike it. I enjoy designing things. There are, however, times I would prefer to design things to create rather than destroy. But I do not, at present, have a choice in the matter."

"Yeah, Marcus is kind of obsessed." She snagged one of the pot stickers he'd ordered. "What'd you do to get stuck in the basement, anyway?"

"What did _you_ do?" he retorted.

"Wrong place, wrong time. Not that I regret it." She quickly looked away.

"Wrong place, wrong time," he repeated softly. "Yes, much the same for me."

Anthea cleared her throat. "You speak so formally. What's up with that?"

"It is merely who I am."

"Yeah, I get that. It's just . . . we've worked together for nearly four months now, and I still know so little about you. Like . . . hobbies. D'you even _have_ hobbies? All you ever talk about is work."

He took a sip of his Andorian wine, which was dark blue in colour and very dry. "I read quite a bit. Anything I can get my hands on, really, though I do enjoy twentieth-century classics. What about you, Anthea?"

"I read. I spend too much time watching ' _As The Universe Turns_ ', I'll admit. It's entirely stupid, but sometimes, I just want to veg and watch the antics of people with petty problems worse than my own."

John snorted a laugh. "I remember watching something, when I was very small, called ' _As The World Turns_ '. I wonder if your show is a modern adaptation."

"Quite possibly, though I can't say I've heard of that one. Must've gone off the screen before I was born."

"Yes, I believe it did."

They finished their meal, paid up, and paused outside on the sidewalk.

"Well, I best be off," she said. "It's late, and while you don't seem to need sleep, I, unfortunately, do."

His eyes met hers and she felt it through every inch of skin. It unsettled her how attracted she was to him.

"Thank you for the company, Anthea. I'll see you in the morning."

She stood for a moment by the door, watching him walk back towards the archive building, and felt strangely bereft.

* * *

Work the next morning felt different, but Anthea couldn't put a name to it. She hadn't slept well, haunted by the image of John's- Commander Harrison's face as they stood there, under the neon sign of the restaurant. Something had changed when they'd so innocently gone to dinner, some subtle little shift sideways that skewed her whole world view just a few degrees.

Lindy was late, so she didn't get to catch up with her friend before reporting to Commander Harrison. Anthea had to remind herself to think of him by his rank. It was a bad idea to entertain the ideas that had kept her up all night.

She wasn't the least bit surprised to find him already there and hard at work. Stupidly, she found herself brushing at an imaginary wrinkle on her knee-length grey skirt.

"Morning," she caroled as she handed him his coffee. "Working on that bloody big ship again, I see."

"Mm. No."

Anthea rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was such a neanderthal, communicating in grunts. Nice backside, though.

Catching herself at the thought, she blushed.

"Take the shoes off."

"Pardon?" Anthea glanced down at her heels.

John looked up from the paper draft he was sketching on. Such an odd man, preferring design methods that were centuries outdated. "The shoes. The click is distracting, and they obviously pain you. Take them off."

Smiling a little, she stepped out of the shoes and wriggled her toes. It _was_ a relief to be free of the things.

"They'll have to go back on if I leave the office," she told him. "Marcus is here today and he's a stickler for protocol."

"Not all protocol," he replied. He turned back to his work, making markings with the pencil that she didn't understand.

Anthea padded over in her stockinged feet and bent to study the drafting. "What is this? Some sort of torpedo?"

"Precisely."

"Bit bigger than the normal ones," she commented. "These are, what, almost three metres? What's it for, more fuel for a longer range?"

"Yes. They need the extra room for the more advanced payload, and the shielding we're designing." He glanced up, looking amused. "More than a pretty face, I see."

A bit flustered, she brushed at her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "I'm not Dr. Carol Marcus, but I know a thing or two."

He stepped aside, motioned to the drawing. "What do you think of the design? I'm afraid aesthetics are not my forte."

She moved in closer. "Well, as they're in space, friction and resistance aren't much of a problem, but if you wanted to make them useful for atmospheric use, I'd angle the nose a bit more here, to reduce drag."

John shifted to stand behind her, and leaned in, pressing close, to make a mark with the pencil. "Yes, I agree."

At some point, she'd ceased breathing. He noted her caught breath with amusement, and reached to sweep the hair off her neck.

"You are . . . very helpful, Thea," he murmured.

She swallowed hard. "Oh, you know me," she laughed weakly. "I live to serve."

"Do you?" His breath was hot on her neck.

A shiver rocked her, completely undisguiseable, and he gave a low chuckle, one hand pressing flat across her upper abdomen to draw her back against him.

"Commander," she breathed. "This isn't appropriate."

"John," he corrected her. "And is anything we're doing here appropriate, Thea?"

His lips brushed her ear. Anthea shuddered and closed her eyes, tipping her head as his mouth slid down the side of her neck.

"You enchant me," he whispered.

He turned her in his arms and boosted her up on the edge of the desk. He had great strength, she could tell from how effortlessly he'd lifted her, but his touch was gentle when he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Anthea sighed, lips parting, and the kiss went from tender to demanding and John hauled her against him.

She didn't mind in the slightest. She hadn't been properly kissed in a good, long while. Anthea slid her hands up his chest and curled them around the back of his neck.

Alarm bells were going off in the back of her head, but she ignored them and threw herself into the heady sensation of his mouth on hers. This was a fantastically bad idea, but realistically, she knew they'd been headed this way since they'd met, since that moment in the turbo lift that first day.

He dragged his mouth away, looking thoroughly rattled. She wondered if she looked as shaken, because she felt like she'd been in an earthquake.

"Anthea," he began.

"Don't ruin it," she breathed. She licked her swollen lips and out of reflex, glanced at her wrist chrono. "We can discuss it later. If I'm not mistaken, you've a meeting with Marcus in fifteen."

John leaned his forehead against hers. "Later," he promised.

She hopped off the desk and straightened her skirt. Then she slipped her feet back into her heels. Anthea cleared her throat.

"Your meeting with Marcus is scheduled for 800 hours, and then you've a 900 inspection scheduled on the new warp prototype over in Terminal B. Then you're free until 1400-"

He cut her off with another kiss, this one swifter. "I'm aware of my schedule, Thea. We shall discuss this at lunch."

"Right."

She gave a sharp nod, still unsteady on her feet.

"And Thea?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Might want to fix your hair before Marcus sees you."

She made a rude gesture and fled.


	4. Chapter Three

**\--Chapter Three--**

It took every ounce of her willpower to appear calm and collected during the meeting with the admiral. She was all-too-aware of John, even though she had put the desk between them. It was difficult to concentrate on the discussion between the two men, though their obvious tension did keep her mind from drifting too far afield.

Marcus was pleased with the design of the torpedo. "Get it put into production, as many as our guys can produce. And get back to the _Vengeance_ , I want it ready by the beginning of the year."

John's grey eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Yes, _Admiral_."

Marcus took his leave, without even looking at Anthea.

"That man is so irritating," she said, after he'd gone. "So imperious. And with obviously no clue what it takes to do what he wants."

"The men in command rarely do." He rolled up the torpedo plans and stuffed them in a plastic tube. Sighing, he braced his hands on the desk's gleaming surface. Though he was normally rock-steady, his hands trembled just a bit.

"You can kill him later," she joked. "Experimental warp core inspection in Terminal B."

"Yes, yes. Thank you."

She followed him across the complex to Terminal B, where a team of engineers were building a core to be put into the _USS Vengeance_. Anthea didn't know how they'd test it here, or how they knew that it wouldn't blow the ship to itty bits the first time they brought it online. That was why she was an administrative assistant, and John was the brains.

The inspection didn't take long. Mostly, he checked to see that they were on-schedule with the build.

"How long did you say I'm free 'til?" he asked, as they walked back to his office.

"1400."

"Cancel it. I want the rest of the day free. If I do not have a break, I will kill something."

Anthea made a few notes on her PADD, pushed a notice through to the relevant parties. "Done. What now?"

"Now, we get out of here."

* * *

He donned his long, dark coat and led Anthea to a building not far from the archive. It was older, and the flats inside were small and rather spare. His was no different; the walls were pale grey, the carpet a shade darker. The windows didn't open and the view was dismal.

"This is where you live?" she asked. "Good heavens, no wonder you're at work all the time. I would be, too, if I had to live here."

"It is what Starfleet pays for. I do nothing here more than sleep."

"Right. This place makes me depressed. We're going somewhere else."

He arched a brow. "Where? We require privacy. This is suitable."

Anthea scoffed. "Hardly. C'mon. My place. Now."

Her own home was on the other side of the city, located in a centuries-old section of brownstones and walk-up flats. Anthea owned an end unit with a view of a little park. It was three floors, narrow, with a few modern conveniences installed; but for the most part, it was as originally built in the 1800s.

"This . . . is charming," John said, as she led him into the foyer. He ran a hand over the red paint on the front door. "Actual doors. Wood flooring. No turbolift?"

"Nope. I get around the old-fashioned way. C'mon, I'll give you a tour."

The first floor consisted of a parlour, a teensy guest bath under the stairs, the dining room, and a kitchen with an attached conservatory that extended into the small back garden. On the second floor, another bath, her study, and two small guest bedrooms. The top floor, not counting the little attic, was the master bedroom and bath, and a balconied terrace that offered a view of the London skyline.

The difference between their residences seemed a galaxy apart.

"This is a wonderful retreat," he commented, as they settled in the study.

"Thanks. It's a bit to keep up, since it's so old, but I enjoy it." She sat sideways on the sofa, facing him. "So . . ."

"So." His light eyes searched her face. "I hope you don't think I was out of line this morning. That was something I have resisted for some time."

"Was it? I know that, technically speaking, workplace romance is forbidden by Starfleet protocol, especially since you're my supervisor, but . . ."

John made a small noise of amusement. "Your employment hardly hinges on me. As two consenting adults, I hardly think it anyone's business but our own what we do."

She licked her lips. "So you . . . have intentions of pursuing . . . this?"

"I have thought of little else since last night, Anthea."

She had to smile. "I thought it was just me."

"No. It is not just you. I admire you a great deal." He shifted on the sofa and caught her hands, pulled her effortless into his lap. "You are beautiful, Thea, not just in body but in mind."

"No need for flattery," she whispered.

"Mm. You're right."

He lowered his mouth to hers.

* * *

After lunch, in the spirit of taking the rest of the day to goof off, Anthea talked John into going for a ride on the London Eye, which had been built in 1999 and was, miraculously, still standing and operational. He'd confessed he had never been on it before, so she dragged him into one of the large cars and they rode to the top.

"Seems a bit silly, I know, since there are such larger wheels around the world, but I've always been fond of this one. It's the oldest standing Ferris wheel in the world, you know."

"I had not paid any attention," he told her. Gesturing out the glass before them, he said, "You can see where the archive is from here."

"Hey, you can! Good eye."

Towards evening, she observed, "You don't get out much."

"My work is my life, unfortunately."

"Let's go out and do something, then."

"Do what?"

"I dunno. Dancing. Dinner. Something."

He eyed her skeptically. "I am not one for dancing."

"Bet I can make you."

John gave her a faint smile. "You're going to hound me until I accept, are you not?"

"You _are_ smart."

* * *

For their first official date, Anthea wore a dark-blue-and-gold jacquard top, paired with a gold-sequined miniskirt that Lindy had insisted she buy, one she'd never worn. It showed off a lot more leg than she was used to.

When John came to pick her up, he'd changed into black trousers-big surprise-and a collarless grey shirt that shimmered slightly in the light.

"Is everything in your wardrobe shades of black and grey?" she asked.

"For the present."

"Remind me to buy you something really bright for your birthday."

"As long as it isn't eye-hurting yellow like that woman over there is wearing."

Anthea looked over and winced. Eye-hurting was right.

They went to dinner, but she didn't get him talked into dancing. When he dropped her off at her brownstone, she said, "One of these days, Commander, I'm going to get you on the dance floor."

"You can try," he purred.

"I'll give it my best. Sure I can't invite you in for coffee?"

"Another time," he promised. "I have to get back and catch up a bit, since I took today off."

"Okay." She rocked up on her toes and kissed him. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Good night, Thea."


	5. Chapter Four

**\--Chapter Four--**

She had breakfast with Lindy the next morning, catching up with her friend over a pastry and a soothing tea.

"Haven't seen much of you lately," Lin commented.

"Busy, busy, busy," Anthea told her. "And the hours I've been having to keep are insane. I'll be glad when this current project is over."

"What is it you're working on?"

She shook her head. "Can't really talk about it."

"Oh, c'mon, Thee, we're both in the know."

"Not on this," she sighed. "One of these days, we'll have a nice, long chat. Maybe a girls' day. I promise."

"You'd better. I get the feeling you're keeping a lot from me."

Anthea tried to hide a grin, and failed.

"Ooh, what is it?"

"Not much. Just . . . started seeing someone. Don't want to jinx it, though. I'll tell you when I can." She glance at her wrist. "Oh, bollocks, gotta go. Stupid early mornings. And my supervisor is a real slave driver."

"Go, go. Don't wanna piss him off!"

Anthea snagged John his morning coffee on the way to the archive. She greeted the security guards, did the requisite scan, and filed into the lift with several others. She was the only one who stayed all the way to the very bottom.

"You should be versed in hand to hand combat," John told her, without preamble, when she walked in. He accepted the coffee she handed him, but didn't drink. Instead, he set the mug aside.

Anthea raised a brow. "Morning to you, too, Commander. You know, I've had the basic training at the academy."

His smile was just this side of condescending. "I'm sure."

"As I'm not a field operative, it's perfectly acceptable!"

John's expression sobered. "There may come a time when you need it. If you'd like, I can train you."

Her grey eyes raked over him. "I'm sure you're more than capable. But I know your ulterior motive."

" _Do_ you?" It was really more of a statement than a question.

"Mmm. You just want to get sweaty and wrestle with me."

He barked a surprised laugh. She did so enjoy getting a reaction out of him and breaking through that stoic exterior. "Were you not the one who, only yesterday, scolded me for inappropriate advances?"

Anthea ran a finger down his chest. "As I recall . . . I didn't protest long."

He snaked his arms around her, pulling her lithe form against him. "That, my dear, is because resistance is futile."

"I noticed," Anthea breathed. "Kiss me."

"With pleasure."

When they separated, it took her several moments to get her breath back and her thoughts settled.

"What do you have in mind, exactly?" she rasped.

"There is a gym not far from here. I am versed in . . . multiple forms of hand to hand combat. I can teach you moves best-suited to your personal style."

Anthea shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

* * *

She'd been joking when she'd said he had an ulterior motive, but she knew he rarely did anything without a solid reason behind it. John Harrison was not a man prone to whims, which made her wonder what, precisely, he had in mind when it came to her, personally. She wasn't dumb enough to believe that he simply thought she was pretty. He was too . . . cold for that.

That she didn't care probably said more about their relationship than anything else.

He took her to a Starfleet-owned workout facility. It was the typical company design: lots of space, stark and sparse furnishings, the walls white and grey, the floor mats black. There were three locker rooms: one for men, one for the non-, multi-, or other-gendered, and the women's. There, she changed into a black tank, with the Starfleet logo on the left breast, and grey exercise pants, pulling her dark hair up in a ponytail. When he emerged from the locker rooms, in a similar outfit, she caught her breath.

While he wasn't the tallest man she'd met, he was gracefully built; John was muscled in a way that spoke of strength that had no need for excess. Lean, but broad shouldered, solidly formed with no hint of the typical scientist's scrawniness.

Anthea watched him run through some warm-up exercises, sweeping and controlled motions designed to loosen muscles and stimulate bloodflow. She recognised it as some ancient martial art, though she couldn't put a name to it.

It was when he began sparring with one of the combat androids that she really saw why Marcus was so possessive of him. He was _fast_ , and economical in his motions. His strength was evident when he, with one arm, punched the android, caught it around the neck, and drove it to the mat.

"Wow. That's impressive," she told him when he'd finished sparring and the android returned to its dormant state. "Where did you learn all this?"

John shrugged. He picked up a towel and wiped his face with it. "Here and there. I learned several forms of martial arts, and eventually adapted my own style. These days, it's so out of use that barely anyone even recognises the words 'tae kwon do'."

"I see. So. Where do we start?"

Three grueling hours later, Anthea wished she hadn't agreed to the training. She was sore from head to toe. Not only had John taught her various forms of holds, punches, and flips, he'd made her practise with a sandbag until her arms ached.

"Stop wearing the heels," he advised her as they left. "They shorten your tendons and muscles in your legs and restrict your movement."

"To work, or period?"

His grey eyes swept over her long legs. "After work is fine."

"Yes, boss." She winked and went into the womens' locker to shower.

* * *

The next two weeks were a blur of work, combat training, and illicit make-out sessions behind the closed doors of his office. While she was afraid of getting caught, Anthea hadn't been so happy in her life.

"What's with you?" Lindy asked when they bumped into each other just outside security. "Is it this new guy? Come on, Thee, spill already!"

"Can't yet, sorry! Soon, I swear!"

While her friendship was floundering a little from her new hours and occupations, her personal life was flourishing. Granted, they were keeping it secret, but she found that a little thrilling. She hadn't taken a risk like this since she was a teenager, and for the first time in a while, she really felt _alive_.

Two weeks into their relationship, Anthea invited John for dinner, ordering in Indian food. She surprised him with chicken and lamb kormas, and three varieties of naan, all set out on the rooftop terrace.

"Is something wrong?" she asked nervously, when he just stared at the food. She was tempted to rub her sweaty palms on her skirt, but didn't want to mar the deep purple lace. "I thought we'd be adventurous tonight."

"Nothing," he said, and his voice was just a little rough. "Nothing is wrong at all, Anthea. I am . . . reminded of something, is all. And this, if I am not mistaken, is coconut korma, which just happens to be my favourite dish in creation."

"Really?" She grinned, pleased. "I had no idea."

They ate outside, though it was heading into fall and the weather was cooling. After dinner, they took in the lights of the city and watched ships and shuttles go by overhead.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. As his arms came to enfold her, Anthea said, "You know, I've never really been off-planet. I've been to the orbital launch platform, but that's as far as I've been."

"I've been to a few places, doing reconnaissance. The stars are beautiful. Seeing planets from space is astounding. I cannot stay as much for all of their peoples, though."

"Klingons?" she whispered.

John kissed her temple. "And Romulans."

"It worries me that you go there," she confessed in a whisper. She twisted around and gazed up at him. "It's so dangerous."

"You really do not need to worry. I am more than capable of ensuring my safety."

"I know that, in my head. Doesn't stop me from worrying."

"You _worry_ about me," he repeated in a whisper.

"Yes."

"Anthea."

This time, when he kissed her, it was with a possessive urgency that turned her to mush. Leaving the dishes where they were, he drew her back inside, through the double doors into her bedroom.

She knew precisely where this was going, and anticipation had her heart pounding. She wanted him more than she'd wanted anything before, including going to the Starfleet academy.

"John," she said against his mouth.

"We can stop," he breathed.

"Don't you dare."

His fingers skimmed under the hem of her pale grey blouse, lifting it as they slid up her torso. She raised her arms, letting him pull the silky fabric up and off. His hands were hot on her skin, delicious in the cool night air. She wore no bra beneath, and her nipples pebbled hard, from touch and from the breeze through the window.  
  
He cupped her breasts, testing their weight, rolling the pink, turgid peaks between finger and thumb. They weren't large, her breasts, just perfectly size for his hands. When he gently kneaded them, she whimpered.  
  
"Mm. Please."  
  
He turned her to face away from him, hands cradling her breasts from behind. His head dipped, mouth sliding along her shoulder. She hissed out a breath and covered his hands with her own.  
  
John slid one hand down her body, fingers catching the lace of her skirt, pulling it up with fingertips skimming the inside of her leg. She gasped when his fingers pressed against the juncture of her thighs.  
  
"Harder," she groaned. "Please."  
  
Smiling wickedly against her neck, he slipped his fingers under her panties and parted her, stroking her woman's flesh expertly. She hadn't had anyone touch her in a while, nearly a year.  
  
"Been too long," she told him. "Want you so bad."  
  
His fingers rubbed harder over her clitoris. Anthea moaned and her hips jerked with every caress.  
  
"Come for me," John breathed in her ear, and she fell apart, knees almost giving way as she climaxed.  
  
"Oh," she breathed. " _Oh._ "  
  
He withdrew his hand and turned her around, enjoying the sight of her flushed face and swollen lips, her dilated pupils. John stripped off his shirt, so that they were both clad only from the waist down.  
  
Still trembling from her orgasm, Anthea unzipped her skirt and shimmied out of it, left in a little scrap of satin that barely hid anything. John smirked and hooked his thumbs under the sides, drawing the panties over her hips. Neatly trimmed dark curls covered the most intimate part of her. She kicked off the garment and sat on the bed, leaning back in invitation.  
  
He needed no further encouragement, swiftly stripping out of his trousers. She sucked in a breath at the sight of him, only half-erect but still impressively large. Anthea reached for him, wrapping her fingers round his length.  
  
"Aren't I a lucky girl?" she whispered. She rubbed her palm along his underside and his stoic façade broke as he groaned. "I knew I could get under your skin somehow."  
  
"Thea," he breathed, "you have been under my skin since we met."  
  
She stroked him to a full erection, kissing him hungrily as she did. He swelled and twitched under her touch.  
  
He reached between her thighs to return the favour, circling her clit with rough fingers until she was gasping, hips undulating with need. He slid two fingers into her tight heat and Anthea moaned.  
  
It didn't take him long at all to bring her again. And when he slid down the length of her body, and pressed his mouth to her belly, just above her mound, Anthea breathed, "Oh, yes, _please_."  
  
John spread her, his tongue slithering over her wet flesh even as his fingers thrust inside her. He sucked the swollen bud of her clit between his lips and she climaxed again, her legs shaking with it.  
  
He didn't ask if she was ready; he could tell from her whimpers and how damp she was around his fingers. And if she wasn't ready, after three climaxes . . . He bent her legs up and knelt between them, thrusting into her forcefully. She cried out and arched beneath him, moaning as he stretched her.  
  
Anthea wrapped her legs tight around his waist. "Unnh. Yes. Please."  
  
He rocked his hips, shoving deeper. Her fingers clawed at his back and she buried her face in his neck.  
  
Her awareness shrank down to one thing: John's body against hers, moving inside her. She couldn't keep track of the number of times he brought her to orgasm, the number of ways he took her. Anthea had never made love with anyone the way she did with him, never did the things with anyone else that she did with him.  
  
She learned nearly every inch of him with her hands and her mouth. She made him come with mouth and tongue, even though it was a challenge to swallow him. And amazingly, mere minutes after she sucked him down, he was ready again, taking her from behind.  
  
Eventually, she had to surrender. Panting, she collapsed on the sweaty sheets. "Enough! I can't take any more."  
  
He gave a low chuckle. "Are you certain? I'm sure I could go at least one more round."  
  
She groaned into her pillow. "I swear you're not even human."  
  
He laughed again and stretched out beside her, running his hand down her back. "I am very much human, I assure you. I am simply . . . more."  
  
"I noticed." Anthea rolled to her side to face him, grinning stupidly. "You are incredible."  
  
"Why, thank you." John tangled his fingers in her hair and leaned in to kiss her softly.  
  
No matter how many times he did that, it sent a jolt straight to her toes. She tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth, sighing into his mouth.  
  
"Sure I can't interest you in one more go?" he whispered.  
  
She shuddered, nipples going hard. "Oh, all right. Since you're twisting my arm and all."


	6. Chapter Five

**\--Chapter Five--**

Way too early the next morning, Anthea stumbled into work, feeling like she'd been on a week-long bender. And she'd only had one glass of wine. Her brain was fuzzy and not even her coffee was really waking her up. Still, she was stupid with happiness.

" _You_ look like you had an eventful night!"

She tried not to blush at Lindy's knowing look, but failed miserably. "Things went well. It was good. More than good. John spent the night, and . . ."

"Waaaait a minute, there, Anthea. Back that transport up. _John_?!"

Anthea bit her lip and grinned into her coffee cup. She hadn't meant to let his name slip, but she was so happy, she couldn't help it. "I s'pose, since I'm at work, it should be Commander Harrison."

Lindy braced her elbows on her friend's desk and leaned forward. "But he's your boss!"

"And we're assigned to a top-secret organisation designed to circumvent the Prime Directive."

". . . Good point. So, spill."

"I shouldn't kiss and tell, but . . ." She let out an explosive sigh. "The man is a machine, Lin. And I don't mean that in a bad way."

Lindy's brown eyes were huge with interest. "Wow."

"It's like . . . Laser focus. Like I was the only thing in the universe." She fanned her face with a hand. "I'm getting worked up just remembering it. He's got the stamina of-"

One of the higher-ups approached, and she broke off to greet him. Once the man was out of earshot again, she leaned in and whispered, "Four hours solid, Lin. _I_ had to say when."

"Get out! Really?"

"So here I am, seven in the bloody morning, haven't had a wink of sleep, and I get to go pretend to be professional around the bloke that just shagged me into the next century."

Lindy laughed. "I didn't see the appeal, but if he's that good . . . See if he has a brother, will you?"

Grinning, Anthea shook her head and tossed off a cheerful "Later!" She had ten minutes to make it down ten floors and across the complex to John's workspace, and she had a feeling it was going to take all of them to get the blush out of her cheeks.

John had left well before dawn, after they'd shared a nice and steamy shower, so Anthea expected he'd already be here. He always was. She drained her coffee as she reached the outer office, where her desk was, and set the ceramic cup down before depositing her business case in one of the drawers. The light was on in John's office, and she knocked briefly before letting herself in.

He was dressed in his trademarked black, staring sightlessly down at the Vengeance plans, dark hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes.

"Something the matter?" she inquired. "You look perturbed."

"Thinking," was his terse reply.

Not the welcome she'd imagined, but she already knew he had a tendency to run hot and cold. Business it was, then.

"Don't let me interrupt, then. I'll be at my desk."

As she turned away, his hand shot out and he tugged her back. Before she could react, he'd pulled her against him and crushed his mouth down on hers with a force that stole her breath.

When they parted, she was dazed and gasping. He seemed as cool and collected as ever.

"In case you think I don't appreciate last night," he murmured. "Which I very much _do_."

She was grinning stupidly as she settled in at her desk to see to the day's schedule.

* * *

Anthea couldn't say that she'd ever found herself dopey for a man before. Then again, none of the men she'd been involved with in the past had been John Harrison.

He spent the day tinkering on a very strange-looking cannon, likely the matter disruptor he'd mentioned weeks back. Had it really only been a few weeks since he'd first kissed her?

She gave herself a shake and focused on the task at hand. "So this is that cannon you were talking about. Got a prototype together pretty fast."

"I don't need as much sleep, so I have had plenty of time to put it together. Hand me that caliper, would you?"

She plucked the tool from his toolbox and handed it over, their fingers brushing. It sent heat straight to her core, but he barely seemed to notice. It made her want to poke him, just to make him pay attention.

"You're very good with your hands," she remarked.

His blue-grey eyes met hers through the hair falling over his forehead, but he didn't speak.

"With building things, I mean," she stammered, recalling all-too-clearly when he'd directed that exact look at her the night before. "That micro-welder? I'd melt my fingers off in ten seconds flat."

"I need more solder. That role of very soft wire, there, by your hand. Cut off a bit about this long." He demonstrated with his free hand.

Cutting bits of wire, that she could do. She snipped off a length and handed it to him. "Shouldn't you be wearing goggles?"

"I'm not welding. This does not throw sparks."

"Oh."

He handed her a pair of very long tweezers. "I need you to use these and hold this circuit in place with them. This is a tight space and I can't manage these, the solder, and the heat implement at the same time."

"Sure thing."

Anthea had done the typical required hands-on things in school, like sewing, and the metals and wood crafting classes, but it had been quite a while since then, and the extent of her handiness ran to tightening the screws on her furniture and cabinets, and installing a new, idiot-proof light fixture in the downstairs bath a few weeks before.

It was nice to be helpful, and she found watching him work fascinating. He was intent with his work on the weapon as he had been in her bed. He didn't fidget, and he was deliberate with everything he did.

"How does this thing work?" she asked.

John started pointing out various parts, explaining what they did and how it all worked together, and what still needed to be done. She managed to understand some of what he was saying, but really, she'd only asked to get him to talk. She could listen to him read the label of a cereal box, just to hear his voice.

"You're not paying attention," he said, voice tinged with humour.

"Sorry, bit distracted." She let her gaze linger on his mouth, to let him know _exactly_ what she was thinking of. "And before I take you right here on this desk and ruin all your hard work, I think I'll go fetch us lunch, shall I?"

"Seeing as I've put a lot of effort into this device," he said dryly, "I would appreciate that."

* * *

He glanced up from his terminal, and the adjustments and calculations he'd been working on, last minute changes to the torpedoes he'd developed, only to realise that it was well past the usual end of shift.

He had no need for "normal" work hours, and in fact relished the chance to work alone after most everyone had gone home. The facility had staff and crew on-site twenty-four/seven, but the majority went home when evening fell. Thus, he was left alone for the most part, alone with his thoughts, his work, and his plans.

Anthea hadn't gone home, he saw. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa he'd had put in early on, anticipating the need for short breaks while working. She had her cheek pillowed on one hand, her dark hair trailing over the arm of the couch, a few locks covering her face.

He save his work and rose from his desk, crossing over to her. He'd forgotten that she needed more sleep than he did, and had obviously worn her out with his attentions. Not once, though, had she mentioned being tired or needing to go home. He wondered how long she'd been asleep here, while he was immersed in work.

That he was interested in her, that he was feeling . . . _tender_ towards her, was odd. He wasn't the kind for attachments, not like this. But he was, admittedly, lonely, and it was nice to be wanted by a beautiful woman. And she would be so very useful to him. He only felt a tiny twinge of guilt at the thought.

Gently, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Thea."

She blinked, grey eyes bleary from sleep. "Mmm?"

"Time to go home," he whispered.

Anthea sat up and gave a jaw-popping yawn. "Time is it?" she mumbled.

"2200."

She was too tired to even react much, other than a "Hell."

"I'll see you home," he said, and got his coat.

They took a cab across town. Once he had her door locked, he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. She tottered across the room and fell face-down on the still-unmade bed.

"Would you like me to stay?" he asked.

"Mrmm?"

Deciding it wasn't an objection, per se, he shed his boots and stretched out beside her.

It was nice, he thought, as she snuggled against him, to not be alone.

* * *

Anthea woke slowly, her cheek pillowed on something harder than her usual faux-down. It took her a moment or two to realise that she was in her bed, cradled in John's arms, her head on his chest.

"Mm. John?"

"Yes."

"You bring me home?"

He shifted so they were face to face. "I did. You were rather . . . drowsy."

"Ah." She stretched a little, ran her hand over his chest, the cotton of his Starfleet-issue shirt soft under her fingers. "Thanks."

"I could hardly send you off by yourself. You'd walk into the street and get run over, and then I'd need a new assistant."

Anthea poked him hard in the stomach. "Nice. Is that all you want me for?"

He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. "Hardly," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble against her skin.

Even though she was exhausted, her heart began to race.

"You wanna . . .?" she asked in a whisper.

John let go of her hand, his own sliding up her thigh. "Do you even need to ask?"

"Do I?"

In answer, he rolled her beneath him.


	7. Chapter Six

**\--Chapter Six--**

The next few weeks were insanely busy, and Anthea made three trips out to Jupiter with John to check on the construction of the _Vengeance_. At first, she was nervous about the journey, but it wasn't nearly as harrowing as she'd expected, and she rather enjoyed seeing the massive gas giant and its many moons.

The size of the _Vengeance_ was just as mind-boggling. Until this point, the _USS Enterprise_ was the largest and most advanced ship in the fleet. But the _USS Vengeance_ was so much bigger, it was only possible to view the whole from a distance. And that itself wasn't possible, given that it was being constructed inside a box.

"And you designed it so _one_ person can operate it?" she asked on the first trip out.

"That is the plan, yes. All systems can operate from the captain's chair."

"I don't know if that's impressive or scary," she admitted. "Little bit of both, I think."

The same, she thought, went for her lover.

"Tell me about her. The ship."

"Dreadnought-class. Several times the size of the _Enterprise_ , capable of firing its weapons at warp. Its systems are largely automated, and its shields are much more advanced than anything else in the fleet. And with the new core, it should be able to achieve warp 9."

"And it's all your brain-child."

"Yes," he said, and there was just a hint of pride in his voice.

They toured the parts of the ship that had completed construction, though he estimated it would be nearly six months before she was complete.

"This," he told Anthea, as they stood on the bridge, "is what Marcus wanted me for most of all."

"I can see why we're building all the way out here. Be hard to explain this taking up half of Iowa."

"She isn't quite that large, but yes. Marcus is fond of his secrecy." As always, his jaw clenched when he spoke of the admiral.

She decided to change the subject. "So the _Vengeance_ is going to be armed with those new torpedoes?"

"That is the plan," he said with a small nod. "But it can also fire all the standard armaments, as well."

"Backwards compatible is good."

On the flight back to Earth, after the third trip, Anthea found herself adrift in thought. Being better prepared against threats like the Romulans and their massive, planet-destroying drill, or against the savage Klingons, was all well and good, but she began to wonder what effect this was going to have on Starfleet as a whole.

The thought of war was nebulous at best, at least to her. But the more she saw of the weapons John designed, of the massive ship being built with the sole purpose of destruction, Anthea began to see war as a terrifying inevitability.

"Is something wrong?" John asked her, when he noticed she was frowning off into space.

"Just thinking about the future. I hope that ship never has to be used."

He was quiet for several moments. "Sadly, my dear, I think the day it will be, is sooner rather than later. When, rather than if."

"I know," she sighed, "and that's what scares me."

* * *

They took to spending some nights at his sparse little flat, merely because it was closer, and of late the pair had been working sixteen or more hours on various projects.

"This place is so depressing. You need to move."

"You brighten it," he remarked.

"Do I?"

In answer, he held up her red bra. She threw one of the pillows at him.

He caught it, eyes narrowing dangerously. Then he gave her a slow, evil smile and tossed the pillow aside, lunging across the bed. She shrieked, laughing, and tried to get away.

John dragged her back and pinned her down. Anthea's breath caught.

"You'll pay for that," he told her in a low voice.

"You promise?" she breathed.

He caught both of her hands and raised them over her head, holding them with one of his. Propped up with the other, he rocked against her suggestively.  
  
Anthea's breathing turned heavy as his burgeoning erection ground against her mound. "Umm. Yeah."  
  
His lips hovered over hers, but he didn't kiss her. Instead, he slid his mouth down her neck and nipped at her shoulder. Needing both hands now, he released her wrists. His mouth latched onto one of her nipples and sucked hard.  
  
She gasped, a hot bolt of desire stabbing through her. Anthea tipped her head back, closing her eyes. She revelled in the tug of his mouth on her breast, moaning when he snaked a hand between them to tease his fingers along her slit.  
  
"John," she whispered. "I want top this time."  
  
He raised his head, eyes heavy with lust, and one corner of his mouth lifted. "Do your worst," he said.  
  
He shifted to his back and Anthea knelt over him. She trailed kisses over his chest, licking at each nipple in turn, before sliding her tongue down his stomach. His thick manhood lay against his stomach, still a little soft. She gently held him in her fingers and licked him from root to head, swirling her tongue around his glans.  
  
"Mm. Yes." He tangled his fingers in her hair, encouraging her with a small undulation of his hips.  
  
Anthea wrapped her lips around him, his pulse thrumming against her tongue. He was big enough that she couldn't take even half his length, using her hands to stroke the rest. Pleasuring him made her even more aroused, and the sounds he made drove her wild.  
  
Eventually, she released him and moved to straddle his hips. Holding his erection steady, she sank onto him, rolling her hips to take him deeper. "I can't-" she gasped. "I can't even-"  
  
John wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her down even as he thrust up. Anthea groaned, hands fluttering on his shoulders.  
  
She rocked in place until she'd found her momentum, and then she rode him, rising and falling over him with a quickening pace. He stroked her body, every inch he could reach, just to spur her on.  
  
He sought for and found her clit, rubbing it in hard, tight circles. Anthea's movements froze and she clenched down on him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.  
  
"Ohh, that- John!"  
  
She came with a ragged cry, hips jerking. Her orgasm nearly pushed him over the edge, but he gritted his teeth and held on. He wasn't nearly done with her.  
  
Anthea collapsed atop him, shuddering and gasping. He waited until she'd regained her breath. Then he rolled over and withdrew, still hard and ready.  
  
John urged her to her knees, her hands on the headboard, and he knelt behind her.It was good she had the support of the headboard, because when he thrust into her, her whole body spasmed.  
  
As he cupped her breasts, he pressed his mouth to her ear and said, "My turn."

* * *

Later, watching John sleep, Anthea realised that it was good they were secretive about this. It was another added layer of stress, that much was true, but even if protocol hadn't forbidden it, she couldn't see them being open about it. Eventually, maybe, she could introduce him to her parents.

She nearly laughed aloud at the idea. Something told her that John and her dad would not get along.

She didn't know where this thing with John was going. The longer it went on, though, the more her emotions became compromised. Anthea was falling hard and fast, and she didn't know how he felt about it all.

She ran her fingers through John's hair, and decided she needed to talk to the one person who knew about this. Lindy could give her the perspective she needed.

* * *

"Lindy, I've a problem."

"Mm-hmm?" Lindy's dark blonde head was bent over her keyboard screen, her reply absent-minded.

Anthea sighed in frustration, not even sure if her friend had actually heard her. "I need to talk to you, Lin. _Now_."

Lindy finally lifted her head, blinking brown eyes. "What? You're not knocked up, are you?"

". . . No."

"Then what are you so worked up about?"

Anthea grabbed Lindy's arm and yanked her out of her chair. She dragged her protesting friend across the lobby to the ladies' and, once inside, leaned against the door so the other woman couldn't escape.

"I'm in love with John," she blurted.

Lindy rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"Am I that obvious?"

"You've been sleeping with him for weeks, and you go all googly when his name comes up. The rare times I see you, that is."

Anthea thunked her head back against the door panel and sighed. "Sorry. I'm not ignoring you on purpose. I've never felt like this, Lindy. I've fancied men before, but there's something about John Harrison that just consumes me."

"Sad. You sound just like that idiot Marla back at the academy. Took her personality from every chap she shagged."

Anthea snorted. "Oh, yeah. McGivers. How did she manage to graduate? What's she doing now, anyway?"

"Dunno. Historian, I think. Boooring."

"Yeah, 'cause secretly killing people is so much better." Anthea shook her head. "So. I can't tell him, obviously. Too soon."

"Pardon me for seeming repetitious, luv, but again, _duh_."

"But what do I _do_?"

Lindy rolled her eyes. "Sometimes you can be an idiot. Talk to him. I don't approve, you know I don't, but it's nice to see you happy. So talk to him, ask him where it's going."

Now that was a scary prospect.

* * *

It amused him how besotted she was.

It wasn't a cruel amusement, by any means. Anthea was smart and funny, and very resourceful. He enjoyed her company, and her romantic feelings for him weren't a bother in the slightest. She hadn't said anything yet, but it was clear as crystal when she looked at him, the way she said the name he'd been given not even a year ago.

He wanted to hear her real name on his lips. But not yet.

Anthea, he knew, would be a very useful ally. And he had come to care for her quite a bit. It would take so very little to cement her allegiance to him, to secure her as a helpmate and a partner in crime.

Not that he had any intention of letting her in on that part of things. It was best if she stayed in the dark regarding his plans for Admiral Marcus.

He watched her dress, reclined on her bed, studying the way she drew her hair back into the prim chignon, donned the ugly, dark grey uniform of her post. The agent of Starfleet he could do without. The woman underneath, however, fascinated him. He found himself possessive of her.

When he had completed his work, he would take her with him. No, he thought. This would not be a hardship at all.

* * *

Another late night, more construction on his cannon prototype. Her fingers were sore from bending little wires and holding the soldering tweezers.

"We about done on this thing, yet?" she asked.

"Nearly. I haven't devised an outer shell yet. But that can wait."

He put the soldering equipment away. Anthea flipped through the blueprints on his desk. A few down from the top were new drafts for the torpedoes. She tugged it out of the stack.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"I thought these had been approved for production? The torpedoes?"

He closed the cabinet and strode back over, plucking the blueprints from her. "They have. These are theoretical improvements for a future version."

"Oh." That was understandable. What wasn't was the large space inside that was completely blank. Mentally, she shrugged. Maybe he just hadn't figured out an improved propulsion system yet.

They had a very late dinner, picking up some takeaway on the trip to his flat. Then he coaxed her to bed, which admittedly took no real effort on his part.

A cry from John brought her out of her doze. Anthea rolled over, reaching for him. He was asleep, trapped in some sort of nightmare. She ran a hand over his shoulder, trying to calm him, but he shook and curled away from her. He hardly ever had nightmares at her place, nearly always when they stayed over at his.

"John," she murmured. "John, darling, wake up."

He murmured something that sounded like "Otto". Then, clearly, "Kati!"

Anthea squeezed his arm. "John, wake up!"

This time, his eyes snapped open. He turned his head to look at her.

"You were having a nightmare, sweetheart." Anthea snuggled into him as he rolled over.

"Was I? I don't recall." He threaded his fingers through her hair.

"You called to someone. Someone named Kati?"

John's fingers stilled on their slide through the silken brown strands. "My sister," he said softly, after a long pause. "She's been gone a long time."

She raised on an elbow to study him. "You never speak of your family."

"I am afraid it's a painful subject, my dear. I have been . . . alone for longer than I would like."

Anthea shifted to straddle him, shoving her hair out of her face as she did. "Not alone anymore."

"No. You're very right about that." His hands settled on her hips, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt that she'd donned before bed. "You have made life so much more bearable these past weeks, Thea."

"Have I? Good to know." She ran her hands over his bare chest. Anthea bit her lip, wanting to say the words that lurked on her tongue, knowing she shouldn't. It was too soon.

"That said . . ." he began, and trailed off. His eyes fixed on hers in the dark, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. She hadn't had the courage yet to start "the talk".

Anthea knew she was a chicken, but she didn't want to put her heart out there and find he was only in this for the sex. He was so good at hiding his thoughts. His next words could be anything; he gave her no hint.

John twisted slightly, one hand shifting to her thigh to hold her steady as he stretched with the other towards his nightstand. He hooked a pinkie around the edge of the drawer and tugged it open. Reaching in, he fished about blindly for a moment before locating his quarry. Whatever it was was small, and he held it in a closed fist, leaving the drawer open for the moment.

Returning his gaze to the woman astride him, he said, "I am not a romantic man, Anthea, and not fond of elaborate trappings. so I'll say this simply. Marry me."

She couldn't hide her surprise, nearly falling over in her shock. This was the last thing she'd expected. "Are- Are you *serious*?"

"Deadly." He rotated his hand and produced a gorgeous ruby ring, the stone set in gold, surrounded by little diamonds. "I know this isn't traditional, but it belonged to my mother. I've managed to keep it over the years. I want you to wear it, Anthea, and be my wife."

She stared at the thumbnail-sized scarlet gem, one hand pressed to her mouth. "We've been together, what, a month or so? How can you know-"

"That I want you? Some things you just know, Thea. And we both know that you should take nothing for granted in this life. I want to cherish every moment." His grey eyes were intent on her face.

She should have been alarmed at the speed of this, should have worried that she still didn't really know him. But for once, she wanted to live impulsively, and do what her heart dictated, not her head.

"Yes," she said, for what else _could_ she say?

He slipped the ring onto her finger. Oddly, it fit perfectly.

"I'd say that's meant to be," John commented.

Anthea smiled. "I agree."

He placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "When is it to be, my dear? I confess I don't want a big ceremony. I'm rather fond of the idea of absconding with you to some remote place and eloping."

Laughing, she said, "Nothing is remote these days."

"Nothing on-planet. What do you say to Betazed? I've been meaning to visit the Darona colony. It's not a Federation planet, not yet, but fast looking to be one."

"I've heard lovely things about Betazed." Anthea laid a hand lovingly against his cheek. "Since I have absolutely no preferences one way or the other, let's do that."


	8. Chapter Seven

**\--Chapter Seven--**

The first two days of her engagement, Anthea was over the moon. Then reality began to set in. She'd known him six months. They'd been dating a little over six weeks. Were they rushing things?

John had travelled to California to meet with Marcus and visit the Daystrom Institute for something or other, so Anthea was by herself, eating lunch alone at her desk.

She pushed her salad aside, having lost her appetite for the leafy greens drenched in a Vulcan-style dressing. Anthea stared at the ring John had given her, tipping it back and forth, watching the light play with the inclusions in the nearly-opaque stone.

John had asked her to marry him, and she'd said yes. She hadn't even really thought about it, just opened her mouth and the word had popped out.

She loved him. There was no question in her mind about that. She just didn't know if she was really ready for this next step. And what had compelled John to ask her? They'd made no declarations, even now that they were engaged. Neither had said those three little words. True, neither were the openly demonstrative type. Every display of affection was behind closed doors, our of preference as well as necessity.

That he _wanted_ to marry her, that he'd given her this ring that obviously meant a great deal to him, told Anthea that he did care.

She sighed and gathered her salad, in its biodegradable bowl, and tossed it in the trash beside her. She wanted to talk it out with her mum, but knew that would fly about as well as a chunk of lead.

"Yeah, Mum, I'm having a secret relationship with my boss and he's asked me to marry him. Why, no, why ever would you think it was a bad idea?" she said aloud, and thunked her head down on her desk.

The door slid open and John walked in. He paused, eyeing her.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," he said, after a moment.

Anthea lifted her head. There was a red circle on her forehead. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "Hi. How'd the meeting go?"

"Fine. I still want to wring his neck, but nothing unusual there. You look . . . piqued. Everything alright here?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Just, um . . ."

"Yes?"

"Cold feet," she confessed. "This is such a huge thing, and we haven't been together that long. Sometimes I feel I barely know you-"

He crossed over to the desk and turned her chair, crouching in front of her. "Anthea. Take a breath. _Is_ it a huge thing, really? What about marrying me will be so drastically different from what we have now?"

She chewed on her bottom lip. "I don't suppose it would be that different," she relented. "You practically live at my place anyway."

"Yes. And I look forward to someday making that a reality. As for your second point . . ." He sighed. "I apologise if you feel I have shut you out on anything. I have a very difficult time talking about my past and my family. I only want to look _forward_ , and I want you to be part of that future. If you're not ready, my dear, we can wait as long as you'd like."

Anthea had to smile. "You are pretty close to perfect, you know that?"

"'Pretty close'?" he repeated, feigning offense.

She laughed. "Thanks for not freaking out. I guess I just needed to say it all aloud."

"You can always bring your concerns to me. Do not be afraid to confide in me."

"Same goes here, you know."

He clasped her hands, toying with the ruby ring. "In the spirit of confession . . . I never knew my father. My mother, Sarina, died in an explosion when I was four years old. My sister, Kati, was two. We were raised by relatives."

She squeezed his fingers. "Oh, John, I'm so sorry! No wonder you don't talk about your family. If . . . if it's too painful for you, I won't ask, alright?"

"You may ask, but there isn't much more to tell. I left home at eighteen, did my own thing for a while. After I lost Kati . . . I ended up in Starfleet.

Anthea stood, pulling him to his feet. "I do want this," she told him. "I suppose it's that none of it's what I expected, and I'm intimidated."

"I understand." He glanced at the discarded salad in the trash bin. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? And get a real lunch."

She snorted. "Yeah. Okay. Dinner, my place?"

"I'll be there."

* * *

Anthea went straight home and changed out of her uniform. She hated the thing, but it was required. She threw on a black and white pencil skirt with a floral pattern, and a somewhat matching top. Black and white ballet flats completed the ensemble. It wasn't, colour-wise, much better than her grey suit, but stylistically, lightyears better.

She puttered around for a bit, checking the home computer for messages, and the mail. When that was done, she stood for a moment in the kitchen, not really sure what to do with herself.

She wanted to share her news with Lindy, but it seemed wrong. An affair was one thing. This, marrying John, was so much more, and had so many more complications, Anthea didn't want to deal with them yet. And she loved Lindy like a sister, but she didn't trust her not to mention it to anyone.

Shopping, she decided. She'd go shopping, maybe buy a new coat for when it got chilly. She hadn't bought a new one in a few years, and the wool was getting a bit shabby.

As a concession to the cooler weather, Anthea draped herself in a turquoise, beaded kaftan that her mum had bought her in India a while back, when her parents had gone there on holiday. It reminded her of the first night she and John had made love, and she grinned as she left the house.

It was on a little side street, not too far from her brownstone, where Anthea found the dress.

She'd never been much of a fussy person when it came to clothes, preferring modern cuts and simple lines with a few bold details here and there. Ruffles and frills weren't really her thing. But she nearly tripped on her own feet when she passed a small, "retro" clothing store; there, in the window, was the Dress.

Mesmerised despite herself, she wandered in to get a better look. She was the only one in the shop, besides the clerk, but she barely noticed.

The dress had the simple lines she loved, a strapless column of pale lace in tiers that laid flat on their way down the skirt. It was what her mother would have called "tea stained", darker than ivory but not quite tan.

It wasn't a wedding dress, not really, but she knew she wanted to wear it. And looking at that dress, Anthea also knew that she could worry until her hair fell out about whether it was too soon, or the right thing to do, but it didn't matter. Smart? Maybe not. She was going to do it anyway.

What was that old saying? Marry in haste, repent at leisure?

She tried on the dress. Like the ring, it fit perfectly, and she wondered, just a little, if the universe was setting her up.

* * *

John was waiting in her parlour when she came in, the dress in a bag. He'd obviously stopped by his flat on the way over and changed out of his Starfleet attire. For once, he had some colour on, in the form of a deep red shirt.

"Branching out, are we?" she inquired, as he followed her upstairs.

"I took your advice." He shrugged and his gaze went to the bag. "What is that?"

"Oh, just a little something I bought while I was out." She hung the bag on the back of her bedroom door. Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she added, "A wedding dress."

"Really." He extended a hand towards the bag's zipper, as if intending to take a peek.

Anthea smacked his hand lightly. "Nuh-uh. Not yet."

John caught her hands and backed her against the door, pinning her to it with her arms above her head, his body holding her to the panel. "So you've decided you _are_ going to marry me."

"I never had any intention of _not_ ," she whispered. " _When_ is more the issue."

He brushed his lips over hers. "Soon, I hope. I mentioned to Marcus the idea of going to Darona, and he approved it. We can go at any time."

Anthea stood on her toes to kiss him. Her hesitation aside, this felt _right_. "How soon can you get a ship ready?"

* * *

It took a few days to get the details of their excursion together. It was very easy to arrange the trip itself. With Admiral Marcus giving them the go-ahead, they just had to secure a ship and rearrange a few things that needed attention while they were gone.

The colony on Darona was known for scientific research, and since it wasn't yet a member of the Federation, the Betazed system was free to do what it liked regarding contact with Romulus and Qo'noS . . . as long as the head of the Federation didn't find out, that was. The Betazoid people were peaceful, but they allowed others to use their facilities for things of less placid nature.

And, as a separate entity, its civil records weren't reported to the Federation.

That was one thing John insisted on: they needed to keep Starfleet in the dark, especially Admiral Marcus. Anthea had no arguments there. If Marcus found out, he could transfer her off-planet on a whim. She was the disposable one, after all. If it came to that, she'd resign, even if it meant she wouldn't be working with John anymore. She loved Starfleet, but her relationship was more important to her.

Still, even with secrecy in mind, Anthea couldn't resist taking Lindy to lunch, to catch up.

"So how are things going with Commander Tight Pants?" Lindy joked, as she poked at her salad.

"Everything's fine. We're just plugging along. Any news on the guy front for you?"

Lindy shook her head. "Though I may take a chance and ask the barista at the coffee shop out. Can't tell him any deep, dark secrets, but he's cute and he'd be good for a fling."

Anthea laughed. "Go for it."

She concentrated for a few minutes on her food, then said, "We've a trip to Betazed in a few days. I'll be gone a couple weeks. Not entirely sure how long. There's a research facility out there we're going to have a look at, see if they'll share anything with us."

"Careful with that. All those people are empaths."

Anthea nodded. "I'm aware. I don't have much to hide, anyway. They pick up emotions, not actual thoughts. And Commander Harrison is about as readable as invisible ink."

"You have the talk with him yet?"

"Of a sort."

"Yeah, you don't seem as anxious." Lindy finished her salad. "I hate to eat and run, but Doctor Marcus is stopping by and I have orders to keep her out of B10."

Anthea raised a brow. "I wonder why?"

"Getting on her dad's nerves, I'd imagine. Have fun with that trip, lemme know when you get back."


	9. Chapter Eight

**\--Chapter Eight--**

"I'm afraid that the majority of our time _will_ be spent in legitimate research," John told her as they boarded the small, warp-capable ship he'd acquisitioned for the journey. It was named "Reliance", no USS designation, and belonged to Section 31, rather than the Federation.

"I've no problem with that," she assured him.

"This is also serving as a test of a scaled-down version of the new warp core. It can, in theory, reach warp nine."

"Nice. We'll get there in a week, rather than in months."

"Precisely."

Anthea settled into the co-pilot's seat. "Are we making any stops on the way?"

"None planned. Not to imply that I do not want to spend as much time with you as possible, but I would rather not anger Marcus by being gone too long."

She watched him program their course in, and everything else they needed to start their journey. "He watches you like a hawk. I'd even say he acts as if he _owns_ you. Why is that?"

John's fingers stilled on the controls. "A conversation for another time, my dear. All in good time. It is a sore subject and I would rather not start this trip in a bad mood."

Anthea reached over and rubbed his shoulder. "Okay. But you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Since we're going to be married and all."

He gave her hand a brief squeeze. "I know. Now, strap in. I'm not certain how rough this ride is going to be."

* * *

Betazed was a lovely planet, rich with plant and animal life, and a thriving culture. They had a matriarchal religion, which the Federation apparently wanted them to abolish before they'd let them join. Privately, Anthea thought that was a ridiculous requirement, but she wasn't in charge.

They reached the planet after several blissful days of doing pretty much nothing aboard the Reliance but bask in each other. She tried to pry details about his history out of him, but he steadfastly refuse to divulge much of anything. She didn't blame him for not wanting to talk about his mother and sister, but other than a few anecdotes about boyhood exploits, he was as opaque as ever.

After getting settled at a gorgeous resort just outside the capitol of Rixx, they set about the more enjoyable part of their visit.

The Betazoids had a tradition where the entire wedding party, to celebrate openness and love, attended the ceremony nude. Anthea wanted no part of that, and even John looked perturbed at the idea. She'd learned early on that very little surprised him, but that, apparently, did. She would cherish the look on his face for eternity.

"No, absolutely not," she told the officiant. "That's your tradition and I'm certain it's lovely, but we would prefer to keep our clothes _on_ , thanks."

The woman looked skeptical, but agreed in the end, as they weren't Betazed.

Anthea dressed in her lace gown. It didn't have a train or anything ridiculous. She'd never been interested in a big, poofy dress, anyway. She curled her hair, piled it up and pinned it in place with a red-jewelled comb. Rubies at her ears and around her neck, in a long drape, completed her look.

John wore his ubiquitous black, in a high-collared jacket and matching trousers, the starkness alleviated only by a dark-grey shirt. She thought he looked high-fashion in a way that most underestimated.

When they gave their names for the ceremony, he hesitated ever so slightly before stating, "John Nathaniel Harrison."

Anthea didn't think anything of it. This was, after all, a rather momentous occasion. "Anthea Skye Mackintosh."

Later, after they'd been pronounced man and wife, John took her to dinner. Over champagne, he asked, "Skye?"

"Hmm?"

"Your middle name is Skye."

"Oh. My dad is from the Isle of Skye in Scotland. My mother is English. They live in Edinburgh at the moment. I'm an only child, though not for lack of trying on my parents' part."

John sipped at his champagne, studying her over the rim of his glass. "You are fortunate in that. Having your parents, I mean."

She reached across the table and took his hand. "I can't bring your mother back, but . . . _we're_ family now."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he laced his fingers with hers and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, smiling faintly. "Thank you . . . Mrs. Harrison."

After dinner, they returned to the hotel suite he'd arranged for them. There was no oversight of his spending, as long as he produced results, so no one would notice that they were sharing a room. And contrary to his insistance that he was not romantic, the setting was exactly that. The private terrace outside overlooked stunning views of the city and the gardens that surrounded the hotel.

Anthea leaned against the railing and sighed. John came up behind her and rested his hands on her hips, his chin on her shoulder.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I suppose we're at the point in our relationship where it's safe to say 'I love you'," she murmured.

"That would be the assumption, yes."

She turned and laid her hands against his cheeks. "I do love you. The night you asked me to marry you, I wanted to say the words but I was afraid it was too soon."

"Too soon? I think we have known each other long enough to know our feelings." John plucked the comb from her hair. "Though I will admit, it has been a long time since I have felt for a woman even a fraction of what I feel for you."

He drew her back through the double doors and into their bedroom. There, he ran his fingers through her hair, dislodging the pins she'd used to hold it up. "I love you, Anthea. My beautiful Thea."

"John," she whispered.

His hands tightened in her hair and she winced. "Sorry."

"It's fine. My hair tangles so easily when I curl it." Anthea raised her arms, turned a little to present her back. "Help me out of this, would you, darling?"

John let her hair tumble around her shoulders. He slowly slid the zipper down, fingers catching the delicate lace of her dress before it fell.

"This dress is an interesting choice," he commented. He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. "You are lovely in it, but it seems . . . a little old-fashioned for your usual style."

"I saw it in the window and just had to have it," she joked.

His hands slid around her waist. Anthea clutched the bodice of the dress to keep it from fleeing. "Have you seen that movie? Or read the book?"

"Mm. Mum likes it. It's very old, a good three hundred years. I was never much for it. Scarlett always struck me as something of an idiot."

John chuckled. "I thought the same, when I saw it as a boy. I very much preferred 'Star Wars'."

"Ah, such a classic, even now. So you're a classic film junkie, huh?"

He nipped at her ear. "Of a sort. As I said, I enjoy things from the twentieth century. The time of imagination before space travel, when civilisation was poised on the edge of greatness and the future was ripe with possibility."

"I love the way you said that. But then, I could listen to you read the dictionary and it would turn me on." She turned, sliding her hands over the crisp material of his shirt. "I brought some, ah, things with me. I'm going to go change into something less comfortable."

"Less comfortable," he repeated with a chuckle. "That sounds intriguing."

"Hang on here, I'll be right back."

Anthea hurried into the dressing room of their suite. She carefully put the dress back in its bag, and stored her jewels, save for her ring.

"Mrs. Harrison," she whispered. "I like the sound of that."

She'd bought a black silk-satin nightdress and matching robe for the occasion, both trimmed in ivory lace. As she slipped into the lingerie, she hoped he'd like it. She hadn't done the lingerie thing for him before. It just hadn't been something she _did_. But Anthea was finding that there were a great many things she did concerning John Harrison that would have once been foreign to her.

When she emerged, she found John standing by the windows, looking out at the night sky. Unlike London, the stars were visible here. He'd removed his coat and shirt, and stood wearing just the black slacks, feet bare. Anthea went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

She pressed a kiss to the mole on the nape of his neck. "Credit chip for your thoughts."

"They're not worth even that little," he told her.

John turned. Seeing what she wore, he smiled. "You are lovely."

"You're not so bad yourself." She laid her hands on his bare chest. "Let's go to bed, husband."

He tugged at the sash holding her robe closed, and Anthea let the garment fall to the floor. "As you wish, _wife_."

* * *

The bed shifting woke Anthea. She sat up, found John at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

"John?"

He didn't answer. She rose on her knees and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

"More nightmares, darling?" she whispered.

John reached up, closing a hand around her outer arm. "Pressures of doing what Admiral Marcus wants."

"Yes, he's had a pretty ambitious goal for the department, hasn't he?" Anthea kissed the corner of his jaw. "Come back to bed. No point in worrying about it right now."

She coaxed him back to the middle of the bed.

"I cannot sleep right now," he told her.

Anthea smiled slyly. "Who said anything about sleeping?"


	10. Chapter Nine

**\--Chapter Nine--**

They honeymooned for a few days, enjoying the pleasantly warm beaches of a nearby lake, but eventually, reality intruded. They left the Betazed homeworld for Darona.

John was all business as they approached the research facility. "It's likely to be boring."

"I've sat through plenty of boring meetings in my time, even before you showed up," Anthea said. "I'll manage."

It was mind-numbingly boring. Anthea followed John through the facility and took notes on her PADD as needed. She didn't understand most of what he and the scientists discussed. Still, there was nowhere else she'd rather be. Except maybe on a tropical beach somewhere, drinking fruity concoctions.

All they really got out of the trip to the colony was some ideas on how to improve shielding. Since the Betazoids weren't aggressive, they had focused more on defense than offense.

"That was largely disappointing," John commented as they left for the Sol system and home.

"The research part, yes. The rest of it I quite enjoyed."

She'd picked up a few trinkets for Lindy and her mother, and a few dresses of Betazed-make she hadn't been able to resist. Still, her favourite souvenir was the photograph of her and John on their wedding day.

It was another six days back to Earth. Anthea had never been more glad to be on solid ground than when they landed in London. It pained her that they had to go back to the pretense of separate residences. It had been so nice to be _together_. Still, John was at her place more than ever.

". . . What have you done to my study?!"

John looked up from where he was hooking a power supply into a terminal. "I have some things to work on that I want to keep Marcus in the dark about. If you mind, I can move the equipment to another location."

Anthea stared at the makeshift lab that had been her study, and sighed. "No, it's fine. I'd rather you be here, tinkering away, instead of off in some . . . At least I can keep you fed here. You scientists."

"I knew you would understand." He shot her a smug smile from where he lay on his back on the rug, doing something with wires and cords. "I promise, it's temporary."

She shivered. "Your equipment won't explode if I light a fire, will it? I was planning on reading by the fireplace."

He indicated the untouched area by the fireplace, where her reading chair still sat. "I didn't take over all of it."

"I don't know why I'm surprised. It makes sense you'd need something here, so you don't need to rush back across town if you get an idea in the middle of the night."

He came over to where she stood by the door, and hooked an arm around her waist, drawing her in for a kiss. "I knew you would understand."

"Just try not to blow anything up, I don't think the neighbours would appreciate it."

* * *

The following weeks passed much the same as they had previously. Then, towards the start of winter, when they'd been married three months, John announced that he had to make a trip out to Romulus.

"Why now?"

"Because I'm the best at what I do. There are rumours that the Empire is . . . dissatisfied with the Federation's explanation of Nero's destruction of Vulcan, and Marcus wants me to see how serious the threat is."

She didn't have to say she didn't like it; they both knew it was dangerous.

"Just try not to get hurt. Or worse."

He kissed her forehead. "I will do my utmost, Thea, to return in one piece. I don't anticipate this will take long. It's two days out, two back, plus a few days to poke around."

"You'll be undercover, right?"

"Mm. Yes. Arms dealer, I think. I'm not certain how one of those dresses, however."

She considered it. "Leather pants, definitely."

He arched a brow. "You know how arms dealers dress?"

"No, I just want to see you in them."

That amused him enough that he agreed to let her drag him shopping for an appropriate disguise. He ended up with leather leggings that had slightly padded knees, in black, and a long, black coat with an unusual pleated design on the lapels. The coat was his choice. The cowled sweater of an incredibly soft, nubbly knit was Anthea's.

"I'm not certain this will work," he said of the ensemble.

"Trust me, you'll look very dangerous in it."

"I _am_ dangerous."

"But you don't _look_ it," she countered. "This way, you will."

He seemed skeptical, but decided to trust her judgement in the end.

* * *

It was difficult to let John go. It wasn't the first time he'd gone intelligence gathering since she'd known him, and it likely wasn't the last. Still, Anthea didn't like it, because it was the first such trip since their marriage and she had more reason to worry.

She wanted work to occupy her; in his absence, she oversaw what she could of the projects underway. Though it wasn't difficult work, it was a huge reminder that he wasn't there.

Since she wasn't really needed in the basement, she wandered upstairs to where Lindy was working. Her friend had been moved from the central desk to an office, where she worked filing various reports for Starfleet Intelligence.

Anthea stuck her head into Lindy's little office. "I'm bored out of my skull. You have time for lunch?"

Lindy checked the clock. "Sure, I'm due for a break."

They found a little place near the archive and indulged in pizza. It wasn't something Anthea often had, since John didn't like it.

"So, Commander Tight Pants is off-planet, huh?"

Anthea plucked a piece of soy-based pepperoni off her slice and ate it. "Yeah. Not sure how long he's going to be gone. I'm hoping he'll be back soon, since Christmas is next week."

"You still celebrate that?"

"It's _Christmas_ , Lin. The Federation may have technically abolished religion, but c'mon. Christmas."

Her friend shrugged. "My family isn't big into that stuff. All we do is Unification Day and the birthdays."

"You should come over Christmas Eve. I want to have a party. Might be antiquated, but whatever."

"You gonna have _the commander_ there?"

Anthea shrugged. "Hopefully. If he's back."

"Where'd he go?"

"Can't say."

"Can't or won't?"

"Little bit of both. Not allowed."

Lindy finished her slice and concentrated on her drink. "Must be stressful, being you. Top secret job, top secret relationship. You ever honest with _anyone_ , completely?"

Sighing, Anthea pushed her plate aside. All that was left was the crust, anyway. "With John, as much as can be. I know there are things he deals with that he can't tell me, even though I'm his assistant. But I'd like to think that he wouldn't keep anything really huge from me. I keep nothing from him. Then again, he's got higher clearance than I do and I couldn't keep a secret if I tried."

Lindy gave a laugh. "I think you're better than you give yourself credit for."

"Not with _him_."

Her communicator chirped. She fished it out of her pocket. "Gotta go. Marcus is on his way and he wants an in-person report."

* * *

She hadn't liked Alexander Marcus before John had come into her life, but her husband's animosity towards the admiral had only served to make her dislike the man even more. Still, she was the epitome of civility when she met the admiral arrived and she met him just beyond security.

"Admiral, good to see you," she said, offering her hand.

He shook it as briefly as possible. "Let's get this over with."

"Certainly, Admiral. Right this way, sir."

Anthea took him through the various areas where the projects John had designed were being built. So far, they had fifty-seven torpedoes built, and were working on another twenty-four, to round out the initial order of eighty that John had put through.

"And when the _Vengeance_ is completed, which should be early next year, they'll be transported out to the Jupiter shipyard," she told the admiral. "Until then, they're stored here. We might move them to another holding facility as they're completed, because they're rather large and take up valuable space."

The admiral nodded. "How's work going on the portable transwarp device?"

"That one Commander Harrison is working on personally, sir, and as he's currently off-planet, it's on hiatus until he returns."

"Any word from him?" The admiral's piercing blue eyes were sharp and keen on her. She felt like squirming, but held her ground.

"No, sir. Not yet. Given the nature of his trip, I don't expect to hear from him until he's left Romulus."

Marcus nodded. "He's supposed to report to me, too, when he can. What are these?"

"Those are prototypes for a multi-powered phaser rifle with sniper capabilities, sir. Right now they're attempting to fine-tune the more powerful outputs, since those, at present, have a tendency to scatter more than we'd like."

He looked impressed. "And Harrison said something about a matter-disruptor weapon?"

Anthea thought about the weapon sitting in her study. "Still in development, Admiral. It's supposed to act as an instant flashpoint with a very small area, perhaps one square metre, in which it should, in theory, vaporise or immolate a biological subject. Use against a mechanical subject, such as aircraft, is purely speculative. As it's not yet in the prototype phase, sir, I can't offer more on the subject. You'll need to ask Commander Harrison about it when he returns."

"Good, good. I'll be sure to. Thank you, Agent Mackintosh, you've been very helpful. Keep up the good work."

The admiral left. Anthea shut herself in John's office and very quietly had a panic attack.


	11. Chapter Ten

**\--Chapter Ten--**

John returned from Romulus two days before Christmas. He showed up at Anthea's brownstone in the middle of the night, weary and dirty, waking her from a restless slumber by turning on her bedside lamp.

"You're a mess!" she said, upon seeing him in the light.

"I need your help."

He struggled out of his coat and sweater. Anthea gasped when she saw the six-inch wound on his right shoulderblade, angry and red though it seemed to be half-healed.

"What happened?" she asked, as she fished the first aid kit out from under the bathroom sink.

She popped it open and fetched a hypospray of anesthetic, some gauze, and some antiseptic.

"A Romulan caught me by surprise and stabbed me in the back. It didn't do him much good, as I killed him about five seconds later. But I think there's part of his blade still in it, which is why it won't heal."

"When did this happen?"

"Three days ago."

Anthea stared at his reflection in the mirror. "Three days? This looks like it happened two weeks ago."

"I heal quickly. I can't go to a Starfleet hospital for this, they'd ask too many questions. Can you get the metal out?"

"I'll do what I can. Sit down, darling, I'll be right back."

She ran down to the study and fetched the long tweezers on his worktable. Back upstairs, she sterilised them, then set about cleaning the mess he'd made of his shoulder.

He was right; the tip of the blade was embedded deep in the wound. It looked like the blow had dug a furrow the bone of his shoulderblade, as well. She had to pull the metal shard out of the bone.

John sat stoicly through it all, not even wincing when she had to use a small scalpel and cut at the worst part to get at the splinter. _She_ was the one who shook, horrified by the sight of it all.

Finally, Anthea had it cleaned and used a skin sealant spray to hold the raw edges together. She bandaged his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

"All done," she whispered. "You should probably lie down, you've lost a bit of blood from all that."

Without a word, he went into the bedroom and stretched out on his stomach on the bed. Anthea finished cleaning up in the bathroom and then joined him, lying on her side so she could stroke his hair.

"I'm so glad you're back," she told him. "I missed you."

"I missed you," he replied. His words were getting slower as the anesthetic she'd given him did its work. "At least it paid off. I made my report to Marcus on the way back from the spaceport. Came straight here. Needed to see you. Needed you."

"Sleep, my love. We can talk about it in the morning."

He closed his eyes and, for the first time in nearly seventy-two hours, slept.

* * *

His wound didn't get infected, miraculously, but the healing process made John somewhat grumpy. Anthea had to cancel Lindy coming over for Christmas, but she didn't mind.

Her mother called Christmas Eve. "Are you coming up?" was the first thing she asked when Anthea answered.

"Sorry, Mum, I've come down with something and I'm not feeling at all well."

"Oh, that's a shame. I hope you can come up soon, when you're better."

"I hope so, too. Merry Christmas, Mum. Give my love to Daddy."

Anthea felt bad lying to her mother, but she'd just got John back after nearly three weeks apart, and he was injured. She didn't want to leave him alone to try and change the dressing on his back by himself.

Thus, they spent Christmas with just the two of them, exchanging presents in the parlour. There was no tree, but she'd managed to scrounge up a string of lights to put up around the window.

"I admit, I'm rubbish at gift-giving," she told John as she handed him his present. It was about as long as her forearm and narrow, neatly wrapped, one skill she _did_ possess.

He held the box in his hands, staring at it in an unfocused way. Anthea frowned, wondering if she'd upset him somehow.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes," he said, voice a little rough. "It's only . . . No one has given me a gift in a long time."

She reached up to run her fingers through his hair. "I'll fix that. I will."

When she touched his cheek, he close his eyes.

"So, go on, open it!"

Obediently, he tore open the wrapping. Inside the wrapped box was a very, very old toy replica of a lightsaber. The plastic was cracked a little in places, some of the paint rubbed off.

"A red one," he said, on a startled laugh.

Anthea watched him carefully. "I got it off some collector in America. It's from the early twenty-first century. I'm afraid it doesn't work, but . . . You said you liked 'Star Wars'."

The collapsible blade was a little bent and scarred, the plastic brittle with extreme age. He held it carefully in his hands. "I'm not sure what to say, Anthea."

"Do you like it?"

"Very much, yes. Thank you."

John carefully put the toy back in the box. "I am astonished you managed to find that."

She shrugged, but was pleased he liked it. "It's not _useful_ , but . . ."

"It means a lot, my dear."

He handed her a box that wasn't wrapped. Inside, Anthea found a brand-new PADD, larger than her current one but lighter in weight.

"I'm not one for giving jewelry," he explained. "You mentioned that the PADD Starfleet issued you was slow and buggy. This one has four times the processing power and a larger display, for more complicated tasks. And this part, here, folds out into a keyboard you can type on so that you don't need to use that ridiculous stylus. It's also a touchscreen interface, of course."

"Wow. This is . . . actually very nice."

He showed her a few of its functions. "It operates exactly like your current one, with a few tweaks. Like this here. Press this and you can block all Starfleet signals from interfacing, specifically for Intelligence. They can't read what you are doing, but you can still wirelessly network."

". . . That is devious. I love it."

"And, it is virtually indestructable. You can drop it from a height of forty metres and it'll survive."

Anthea grinned. "Knowing me . . ."

"Knowing you, yes."

* * *

"I know you said you heal fast, but this is insane."

Anthea studied the faint scar on John's back, where, just three days before, she'd dug a chunk of metal out. "This looks months old."

He plucked a shirt out of the closet and shrugged into it. "As I said, I'm blessed with good genes."

"I'll say."

She finished dressing and pinned up her hair. "Marcus was asking about some of the projects you've been working on. He seemed particularly interested in the transwarp device."

"It's finished, in theory, but I'm not sure I want the good admiral to have it."

"I wouldn't. He just seems so . . . eager to start something. I don't like the look on his face when we get something going."

John gave a terse nod. "He has an agenda. He wants to militarize Starfleet and stop most of the explorations."

Her grey eyes widened. "That is a bad idea. More advanced weaponry, in case one of our ships runs into something like the _Narada_ again, is one thing, but . . ."

Her husband was silent, lost in his own thoughts. Anthea retrieved her things and put them in her work bag.

"I'm going to make a quick stop in for my monthly birth control shot," she said. "I'll see you at work?"

"Why monthly?" he asked. "I know there are annual ones."

She shrugged. "The annual ones are harder on the system, and make it more difficult to get pregnant when that's desired."

"We haven't discussed that, by the way."

"Discussed . . . children?"

His eyes searched her face. "Yes."

"Well, um, that would be for a time when I'm not about to rush out the door."

Seeing she was nervous about the subject, he chuckled briefly. "Go. I shall see you at work."

* * *

The whole day, Anthea was distracted, thoughts constantly bouncing back to the subject John had raised. Did he want children? Was that what he had been trying to get at?

They'd only been married a couple of months, and the thought of having a baby this soon was nerve-wracking. She wanted them . . . eventually. It was always "eventually". But when _that_ was, she'd never been sure. Her relationships had never been serious enough to consider it. Until now.

"I'm going to work late," he told her as she readied to leave at the end of the day. "I have things to catch up on."

"I'll see you at home, then?"

"It might be quite late." He gave her a brief kiss. "I hope I did not alarm you this morning."

Anthea chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "Well . . . it _is_ something we need to discuss eventually."

"All I need to know right now is if you do, some day, want children. With me."

"Of course," she answered, with no hesitation. "I'm just not sure if now is the time."

"Now is probably not a good time at all," he told her. "But some day."

"Okay. Glad we . . . got that settled. You sure you don't need me to stay?"

"I should be fine, but thank you. I will see you at home."

* * *

He waited until she'd left, then he rose from his desk and fetched his tools. Just that morning, he had seen to it that all the torpedoes that had been completed were moved off-site, just as Anthea had told Marcus they were planning on doing.

They weren't, however, the only things that needed moving.

It had taken him until this afternoon to figure out where Marcus had hidden his leverage. Now that he had, his patience was thin.

Very carefully, he went through and removed any mention of the torpedoes from official record. Those here at the facility knew of them, obviously, as did Marcus, but in order for his plan to work, he needed as few eyes as possible on what he was doing.

Time, too, was of the essence.

He sent a message to Anthea in the wee hours, knowing that she would likely have waited up, telling her that he wouldn't be by that night and would see her in the morning.

It took all night to execute this stage of his plan.

When Anthea returned in the morning, she was the picture of concern for his well-being. Any annoyance shown was for Marcus, for putting demands on them that were difficult to reach. He assured her that he'd caught a few hours' sleep on the sofa in his office.

Pacified, she went to her desk.

At his own, he deleted any mention of seventy-three cryotubes from _all_ records, and he smiled.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**\--Chapter Eleven--**

She insisted on dragging him out for New Year's Eve. Dressed for battle in a metallic gold mini-dress, it was easy to win him over. She wore her hair down, loose over her shoulders, and ridiculously high heels covered in gold sequins.

John took one look at her, leaned in the doorway in her short skirt, the expanse of her long legs covered in barely-there, gold-shimmer hose, and he agreed to do anything she wanted.

Anthea insisted he wear his black leather pants, so he did. She delighted in having him, at least for the night, having him wrapped around her finger. She took him to a nightclub not too far from her place that catered to a more sophisticated clientele. It wasn't a place for the bump-n-grind set.

There was a relatively quiet area off the main dance area where they had dinner. Afterwards, when she'd made sure he'd had enough wine to loosen up, Anthea pulled John out to the dance floor, as she'd insisted months before she'd do.

He wasn't much of a dancer, it just wasn't in his nature, but when she _did_ get him to pull a few moves, he was graceful and confident. John did better with the slow dances than the fast ones.

Towards the end of the evening, Anthea drew him into one of the private lounges for drinks. It was just the two of them and some music. In the seclusion, she got him to try some more racy dance moves, and laughed when he got a little flustered.

"What's the matter, baby? Getting hot under the collar?"

In answer, he stopped dancing, pulled her flush against him, and kissed her fiercely. His hands told her precisely what he was thinking.

"We're in public-" she began.

"Technically, we're not. My dear Anthea, what did you think these rooms are _for_?"

He lifted her, hands under her thighs, and held her against the wall with his body. Anthea gasped at the show of strength. He kissed her hungrily, demandingly, rough hands sliding over her hose-covered legs with a rasp audible only to them.  
  
John reached between them and his fingers tugged at the delicate fabric of her hose, tearing out the crotch effortlessly. She wore nothing beneath, and his fingers found her wet and eager.  
  
Anthea moaned when he thrust his fingers into her, spasming with a surge of lust. He always knew exactly where to touch her, just how to caress her.  
  
"Please," she said against his mouth. "Fuck me."  
  
She whimpered when he withdrew his fingers, but he had to in order to unzip his fly and get himself free. He was hard and ready for her, and he took her with one thrust that slammed her against the wall.  
  
She didn't mind in the slightest. Wrapping her legs tight around his waist, she dug her fingers into his hair and kissed him for all she was worth. His hips pounded against hers, driving in time to the music that pulse through the floor and the walls of the club.  
  
Outside, the countdown began.  
  
"Ten!"  
  
"Harder," she begged.  
  
"Nine!"  
  
He growled her name and nipped her bottom lip, pumping faster into her wet heat.  
  
"Six! Five!"  
  
Anthea clutched his shoulders, holding on as his thrusts shook her. One of her shoes fell unheeded to the floor.  
  
"Oh. Oh, yes. I'm- Come with me, I'm so close!"  
  
"Three! Two! One!"  
  
Her orgasm crested and stole her breath, wracking her head to toe with shudders. He followed a split second later, spilling hot inside her with a gutteral, triumphant sound.  
  
As the sappy, centuries-old "Auld Lang Syne" began, Anthea unfolded shaking, unsteady legs, finding herself a few inches too far from the floor to find purchase. John was breathing hard, squishing her against the wall, his face against her neck.  
  
"Mmm. Happy New Year, indeed," she purred.  
  
He snorted a laugh and drew back to set her down. She wobbled for a moment, realising her shoe was missing. She felt drunk from the sex, and collapsed into giggles, pressing her face into his chest.  
  
John stroked her hair for a moment, before he stooped to retrieve the spangly high heel. He crouched and slid it ont her foot. Glancing up, he paused, captivated by her thoroughly dishevelled appearance.  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"You are beautiful," he told her.  
  
"I'm a mess is what I am. I'd best clean up before anyone sees us."  
  
He stood and refastened his pants. Anthea's hair was tangled, her lip colour smudged, cheeks flushed. The skirt of her lovely dress was above her hips, and her hose were torn beyond repair. In a word, she looked ravished.  
  
John tugged her skirt back down and smoothed her hair. "Go clean up. Then we're leaving. I'm not done with you yet."  
  
Her eyelashes fluttered and she bit her lip. "John," she breathed. "Don't _do_ that."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
She flapped her hands, unable to put it into words. "That thing you do with your voice that just about makes me spontaneously orgasm."  
  
"I can do that?" He looked delighted. "How can I test this?"  
  
"Shut up," she gasped. "We'll do that at home."  
  
Grinning broadly, he held the door for her so she could rush to the ladies' and clean up.

* * *

New Year's Day was a Saturday, so they had the whole weekend off. They spent the entirety of it in bed, with breaks only for nourishment and other absolute necessities. For Anthea, going back to work on Monday felt like drudgery.

Nothing eventful happened at the archive complex over the next few weeks. John went out to inspect the _Vengeance_ , as it was nearly completion, and Anthea stayed to oversee transport of the latest batch of torpedoes off-site. John had been very adamant, now that they had most of them done, only six left to finish of the initial 80, that all the weapons they'd finished needed to be moved to the bunker where the first sixty were stored. He would, he'd told her, do it himself, but he had to go with Marcus to Jupiter.

He seemed obsessed with the highly-advanced weapons, and he began to spend more and more time working late, sometimes all night, with no sleep. If he wasn't there, he was shut in the study, working on who knew what.

In mid-February, Anthea had had enough. She knocked on the study door until he opened it, looking distracted and put out.

"What?"

"You've been in there for hours."

"I'm working."

She crossed her arms. "And I'm your wife and you've been neglecting me. It's Valentine's, if you hadn't noticed. I'm not expecting flowers or anything, but your company would be nice."

John sighed and raked his hands through his hair. "I'm almost done with this. Another hour, Anthea, and then we'll . . . go to dinner, or something."

She seemed skeptical, but agreed.

* * *

She was afraid the effort might be wasted, but Anthea was determined to try anyway. She wanted John to relax. He seemed to be pulling away, and it frightened her. He was under a lot of stress, Marcus constantly asking for status updates on everything, so she did understand. She just wished she could help somehow, do more for him than take calls and send memos.

Reminding him that he wasn't solitary any more and dragging him out to eat was about all she could think to do. So she put on a pretty red dress, one with a black damask pattern, and some makeup. When the promised hour was up, she pestered him into putting something nice on, instead of his black, long-sleeved Starfleet shirt.

That he put on the shirt he'd married her in said he was at least making an effort of his own.

They went to the Chinese place from their first unofficial date. John relaxed a little, but was clearly preoccupied.

Anthea reached across the table to clasp his hand. "Tell me what's wrong. I know something's bothering you."

He shook his head and gave her hand a squeeze. "I feel I'm working against the clock. I want to finish and be done with this, but Admiral Marcus keeps adding one more demand. I finish one project and he has another waiting. Will it never end?"

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry. I wish I knew what to do, how to help."

His grey-blue eyes were bleak, and a little red-rimmed. "Just be here for me, Anthea. You help me by being here."

She felt guilty for nagging at him. "Surely, when the ship is finished, and he has his toy to play with, he'll ease off."

"I fervently hope so."

"It'll be okay."

He gave her a brief smile, and she smiled back.

* * *

Anthea had just finished brewing tea when the buzzer at the front door went off. She padded on bare feet to it, wondering if it was John. He was very late. He'd said hours ago that he was on his way over.

It was, indeed, her husband at the door. He looked frazzled and tired, a state she'd never seen him in. And he had a duffle bag with him.

"Where have you been? Did something happen?"

"In a manner of speaking. Let us say that I am . . . taking an impromptu leave of absence."

"Marcus won't be happy with that."

"Marcus is the reason for it. And I'd prefer he did not know where I am."

She blinked. "Sure. I was thinking you should officially move in, anyway. Are those your things?"

"Yes. I don't own much." He scanned the room, then strode up the stairs and into her bedroom to put his things there.

Anthea followed, tea forgotten. "What happened, exactly?"

"Remember when I said we had a difference of opinion on a few things? The torpedoes are one of them. I think he wants to use them to start a war with the Klingons. I made some modifications he didn't approve of, and he set some of his goons after me."

Her mouth dropped open. "Admiral Marcus did that?!"

His bleak look confirmed it. "I may need to go away for a bit, my love, and I _am_ sorry. I cannot drag you into this right now."

"Go take a shower, darling, I'll fix you something to eat. You look a wreck."

He gave a terse nod and headed for the bathroom.

It was a sad commentary, she reflected as she began to add the rest of his clothes to the ones already in her closet, that he had so little. It didn't take long at all to put his things away.

The shower was still going, so she went down to the kitchen. Anthea discarded the now-cold tea and started boiling more hot water. She fixed John something simple, a sandwich and some carrot sticks, and waited for him to come down to join her.

When he did, he was slow-moving, as if in pain. His face was expressionless as he sat down at the table.

"Tell me what happened," she said.

He picked up a carrot stick and stared at it. "Marcus's daughter, Carol, has been poking around into the torpedo project. The man is an idiot, he's let her run all over everything for quite some time. When we decided to make the torpedoes eyes-only, she took offense and began hounding Marcus to be included. Somehow, she got him to take another look at a few changes I'd made, and he . . . went ballistic. He is in California right now, so he sent some of his henchmen after me. They ambushed me outside my apartment."

Anthea shook her head. "That's . . . horrific. Are you alright?"

"Fine. They aren't, but I will deal with that later. I, ah, disposed of them, and then waited a while to get my things. I'm hoping Marcus will cool down and see reason, but I am afraid he won't."

John's hand trembled and he pressed it flat on the table.

"What, exactly, did you do?"

"I modified the fuel compartment a bit. They aren't quite as long-range as he'd hoped. I'm afraid he's planning to attack Qo'noS, or trick some other fool into doing it for him. If they cannot make it to Qo'noS from the edge of the neutral zone, he cannot provoke the Klingons. At least, that is my hope."

"The man is _evil_ ," Anthea whispered.

"Evil is a matter of perspective," her husband said. "I'm sure he believes he is doing what is right."

"Don't all terrorists and dictators?"

She got up to fetch him some tea, and missed his grimace. When she set the tea by his hand, she lightly rubbed his shoulder.

"Eat, then get some rest. At least this means you don't have to work around the clock to do his bidding."

"Yes," he said slowly. "There is that."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**\--Chapter Twelve--**

When Anthea arrived at work the next morning, leaving John to putter around the house and do his thing, she found Admiral Alexander Marcus waiting for her.

Without any greeting, he said, "Commander Harrison has left this division. Since he's gone, you'll go back to assisting everyone else." Marcus pointed at Anthea. "Might as well keep your clearances, since you'll need 'em to help us sort out his files, but if you hear from Harrison, let me know immediately."

"Yes, sir," she said, and smartly saluted.

Obviously, the admiral didn't have a high opinion of the intelligence of women, for all that his daughter had a doctorate in advanced weaponry. Anthea watched him walk away, wondering what on earth was happening.

"You're not gonna tattle on him, are ya?" Lindy inquired. "Seeing as you've been getting it on with him for, what, four months now?"

"Five," Anthea corrected, "and hell, no. 'Scuse me, I've got a whole bunch of adjustments to make downstairs."

It was chaos on B10. Anthea had to delegate the projects out to others who probably weren't as qualified as John to handle them. That wasn't her problem. If Marcus wanted John to keep working for him, he shouldn't have been such an unholy git.

Marcus called her communicator three times, demanding to know if she'd heard from John. She told him know, and finally had to shut the thing off so she could get some work done.

It was a long, tiring day, and the new project heads kept asking her questions they should have already known the answers to. It wasn't as if any of the projects were brand new.

The next two days weren't any better. It didn't help that Marcus had brought in a new hire, transferred from the base outside London. His name was Thomas Harewood. He was a soft-spoken black man, very polite, who had pain in his eyes. Anthea didn't know what he was dealing with, but it made her jumpy. She found herself his mentor, which was beyond odd as he was several years older than she and higher-ranked. Technically speaking, anyway. Her real rank, as an Intelligence agent, was higher than the one he'd had as a normal Starfleet officer.

She had lunch with Harewood on the third day, and he told her that he'd taken the position with Section 31 because his daughter was ill.

"She's very, very sick," the man said, and there were tears in his eyes. "She's been in a coma for months, and the doctors don't know what's wrong. I was hoping that . . . working here might help somehow."

"It's mostly weapons research and development," she told him, "but there are a few people in medical research on B9. I'll talk to them, see if maybe they could take a look."

He looked shocked. "You would do that?"

"Sure. If there's something we can do for her, I'm all for it. I'm not overly fond of making things that go boom, anyway. Doing something constructive would be good for a change."

The rest of the day went better, though she wasn't sure she'd actually be able to deliver on that promise to Harewood. The "people in medical research" she'd mentioned were involved in biological weaponry and might not be interested in the plight of one little girl.

Unless they figured out what was wrong, cured her, and managed to weaponise her illness. The very idea made Anthea shudder.

"They recruited someone new," she told John over dinner. "A Thomas Harewood. Seems competent. He was in engineering over at Smith-Tennant Airbase before coming aboard."

"Was it Marcus who recruited him?"

"I thought so at first, but, I believe it was Vice Admiral Brody? That's what I think he said, anyway. Poor guy has a daughter in hospital, dying of some unknown illness that's got her in a coma. Apparently, she's all of eight years old, and last summer, all of her nerves started doing something odd, putting her in pain all the time." Anthea frowned and poked at her food. "She's been comatose since September."

John gazed at her over his glass. "What are you doing in this line of work, Anthea? Really? You're too soft-hearted for killing people."

Before she could respond, he held up a hand. "I do not mean that in a bad way, my love. I think it makes you so much _more_ that you're concerned like this for a virtual stranger's child."

She shrugged. "When I was talking to him today, about Lucille-that's her name, Lucille-I found myself wondering what if it was our daughter, suffering like that? How would I handle it?"

"It won't happen," he promised her. "And you are strong. Even if it were to happen-which it won't-you would be strong for our child."

"How can you know it won't?" she countered. "They don't know what's wrong with her. There's no way to guard against an unknown illness."

John put down his glass and leaned his forearms on the table. "There is also no reason to worry about a hypothetical. Besides, any child of ours would have the greatest advantage in a situation like that."

"And what is that?"

"Me."

He said it with such simple truth, she found herself gaping at him. But then, she realised, he was the most brilliant mind in Starfleet. If anyone could figure out something like that, it would be him.

"John . . . Would _you_ , since you're not working on the weapons project anymore, be willing to talk to Harewood?"

He seemed to consider it. "I will think about it."

* * *

"No, sir," Anthea was saying into her communicator as she got out of the cab. She paid and entered the house, still talking to the irate admiral. "I haven't heard from him. When I _do_ hear something worth reporting, sir, rather than wild speculation, I will let you know. The speculation? Someone theorised he'd defected to the Romulans, but as Commander Harrison hates them, I don't think that would be remotely likely."

John was in the study, and he raised an eyebrow but not his gaze at her words.

Finally, she managed to hang up. "Marcus is hunting for you."

John didn't look up. He was still fiddling with his disruptor cannon. "I would imagine he is. Your mother called while you were out."

"Did you answer it?"

"And leave her to wonder who the strange man is, answering her daughter's home communicator in the middle of the day? Hardly. She left a message."

Anthea went to the message centre and called up her mother's voicemail.

"Anthea, dear, it's Mum. I know it's short notice, but as it's your dad's birthday Monday-you know how he is about parties, just hates them. Anyway, I was hoping you could come up for a visit, and stay a few days. We haven't seen you in so long, sweetheart, it's like you've dropped off the earth. I really don't see how working as an office assistant at that archive can keep you so busy. Do call me, Anthea! Bye!"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and pressed "delete". She loved her mum, she really did, but the constant criticism about her "lowly" job was annoying.

"You should go."

"Pardon?"

She glance over to see John watching her, his tools set aside. "You should go and see them. In the nearly six months we've been together, you haven't once visited."

Anthea sighed. "I feel like I'm leading two lives. Or . . . three, really. I've got this with you, then I'm pretending at work that I don't know where you are and we aren't involved, and then there's my parents, who haven't a clue about anything that's really going on in my life. I feel like I have a secret identity."

He held out his hand and gestured for her. Anthea went over and took his hand.

"In time, I'm sure, things will resolve themselves. With this stress I've inadvertently put you in, landing you right in the middle between Marcus and myself, perhaps it would be good for you to take a few days off. You haven't had any time off since we went to Betazed, and I know you're not a tireless workhorse like myself."

She bent and kissed the top of his head. "I made my choice, you know. I'll always choose you over everything else."

He smiled, but she couldn't see it. If she had, she would have wondered why it was so dark. "Besides," he said, "if you're in Scotland on holiday, Marcus might be less likely to harass you about me."

"Alright," she said, with another sigh. "It's just a few days, right?"

"Precisely. Though I'm not certain how recuperative Scotland will be in February."

"Yeah, I won't have you to keep me warm."

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "Think warm thoughts, and share them with me when you return."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**\--Chapter Thirteen--**

_2259.56_

Anthea woke feeling unsettled and run-down. She'd grown used to sleeping with John beside her, and staying in the single bed from her childhood just wasn't restful for her. She'd woken every hour or so, unused to the cool and empty space beside her.

She rose and dressed, her movements slow, brain fuzzy and lagging. Her stomach was queasy and her head hurt. A nice, soothing cup of tea sounded like just the thing.

As she set a tea bag to steep, she found her thoughts drifting to John. She'd have to call him, see how he was faring without her. It really seemed odd, now that she thought about it, that he'd been so complacent about her coming up to visit. He'd been on edge, tense and cranky, since his falling out with Marcus, and yet, he'd seemed happy for her to go. What had happened to her being his solace?

She shook her head, then clapped a hand to her forehead as the room spun. What was wrong with her? She hardly ever got sick, save for the occasional reaction to her birth control-

Anthea blinked, realised that with all the stress John had been under the past few weeks, and her resultant worry, she hadn't gone in for this month's as she should have.

Her mother's cry brought her out of her daze. Anthea set down her tea cup and went into the parlour, where her parents stood, watching the screen.

"-repeat, we've just learned there's been a bombing in London. Not much is known at present, and it's too early to speculate about terrorist attacks, but we're told the explosion was at the site of Starfleet's archives."

Anthea clapped a hand to her mouth. If she'd stayed in London, if she'd gone to work- "Oh. Oh, I have to call someone. I have to-"

She fumbled in her pocket for her communicator and stepped outside, to the terrace that overlooked the back garden. Her fingers shook as she punched in numbers.

"Anthea," John answered, on the second trill, and she immediately sagged with relief.

The pounding of her heart slowed a little on hearing his deep voice. "Oh. You're alright. I was afraid- I just heard about London. What happened?"

"Apparently, that new hire you mentioned, Harewood, blew the place up. I've got to go, Thea, I need to reach Admiral Marcus."

"I thought you were hiding from him?"

"Yes, well, this may be connected and-" He paused and his voice went rough. "I hate to think what would have happened if you'd been here. Nearly the entire complex is gone. I think I saw your friend Lindy, though, I believe she's alright. Stay in Edinburgh. I need to know you're safe. I'll come for you when I can."

"Yes, alright. I- Be careful, darling. I love you."

"And I love you, Thea. I need to go now."

His end went dead, and she slowly put the communicator down. Her hands shook, and she balled them into fists, trying to calm herself.

"Anthea?" Her mother appeared in the doorway. "Wasn't that where you worked?"

"Yes, yes, it was. I need to contact a few more people, let them know I'm fine and wasn't there."

"Have some tea first, sweetheart, you're shaking like a leaf!"

* * *

She made the calls, even managed to reach Lindy and assure herself that her best friend was fine. Shaken up, but fine. Her friend had been a few blocks away, in the other direction of the explosion, running late on her way to work.

But she hadn't heard another word from John, and he wasn't answering his communicator. She was worried about him, worried about the friends and coworkers she hadn't been able to reach. She had to wonder why Harewood had done it, what he'd had to gain that would be worth so much. Just days before, he'd been hoping they could help his daughter. Why would he sabotage that?

Shortly before lunch, two officers from Starfleet appeared at her parents' door, armed and looking very serious.

"Anthea Mackintosh?" the one on the left demanded.

"Yes, that's me."

The one on the right grabbed her arms and hauled her outside, holding her at phaser-point.

"What- I beg your pardon!"

"Where is John Harrison?" Goon 1 asked.

"Not here," she snapped. "Why would he be here?"

Goon 1 nodded to Goon 2 and went into the house. A few moments later, her parents emerged, also threatened with phasers.

"Hold them," Goon 1 ordered to Goon 2. "I'm going to search the house."

Her mother clung to her father. "What's going on, Anthea?" she whispered tremulously. "Who are these people and what do they want?"

"They're Starfleet," she said, feeling hollow and confused. "They're looking for my supervisor from work."

"Why would he be here?" her father asked.

"Dunno, Dad."

Goon 2 finally spoke. "John Harrison is wanted for conspiracy, acts of terrorism, and the murders of Admiral Christopher Pike and Captain Frank Abbott."

"And what evidence do you have of this?" Anthea demanded.

Goon 2 produced a PADD and brought up images of John, clearly at the explosion site in London, carrying two bags and taking possession of a jumpship. Then he said, "Witnesses, including Commander James Kirk of the USS Enterprise, testify to Harrison's attack on the Daystrom Institute two hours ago, which resulted in the deaths of Pike, Abbott, and three other officers during an emergency session."

Why hadn't she heard about this before now? Was this why John wasn't answering when she called? Spots appeared before her eyes, Anthea's vision greyed, and she swayed, only Goon 2's grip on her arm keeping her upright. Nausea welled.

"No, you're wrong, you have to be wrong!"

Then her knees gave out, and she fell, landing on all fours on the cold, damp grass. There, she was quite thoroughly sick. Her mother knelt beside her, stroking her hair.

Goon 1 appeared in the open door. "Nothing. He's not here."

Goon 2 put his phaser away, but gave them all stern looks. "If Harrison shows up here, contact Starfleet immediately."

She clenched the grass of the front garden between her fingers, the little green blades crushing in her grip. It would be a cold day in hell that she told them anything, even if John had done what they said.

* * *

Anthea knew it was dangerous, but she needed to get to London. They had to be wrong about John, they had to.

"No, Anthea, you are _not_ going," her father shouted.

"Dad, I'm one of the only people who worked at that facility that's still alive. I need to see what I can do, if I can help." Silently, she added, I need to find John. "I'll be gone a few hours, a day at most. And I'll keep my communicator on and check in frequently, I promise."

Her mother looked very worried. "But what if he finds you?"

"I hope he does," Anthea replied fervently. "I really hope he does."

"He could hurt you!"

She shook her head. "No. John wouldn't- I may not know what's going on right now, but John would never hurt me. He loves me."

But did he really?

* * *

The question haunted her the entire shuttle flight to London. The trip only took twenty minutes, but seemed to last a lifetime.

Lindy met her at the landing platform. "You're dating a psychopath, you know," was the first thing her friend said.

"We're not dating," she said heavily.

"Oh, right. Because he's gone on a murder spree. Good riddance. I never liked him."

"Shut up, Lin, alright? I'm having a hard enough time without you ripping on me, too. A couple of Marcus's men tore my parents' house apart this morning, hunting for John."

"Why would he go to Scotland?" Lindy paused. "For that matter, why would _anyone_ go to Scotland?"

"Oh, shut up." Anthea headed towards the taxis, but had to stop and lean against a support pillar when another bout of nausea hit.

Lindy put a hand on her shoulder. "You alright, Thee?"

The nausea was only momentary, fortunately. "Just not feeling well."

"Yeah, it's a bad time for us all."

Understatement of the century.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**\--Chapter Fourteen--**

She wasn't exactly sure what she'd hoped to gain from her trip, but even visiting the explosion site offered nothing. Most of the afternoon was taken up with meetings with local Starfleet officers, all of whom wanted to know why she had been away and if she, as Harrison's assistant, had known anything.

Her throat was sore from her repeated denials by the time they let her go in the late evening. Anthea had nothing to offer, no insights into John's activities. She was bone-tired and soul-sick, worried for John. And, if she were truly honest, beginning to feel scared _of_ him.

Lindy took her home to her little, old brownstone. The place had been left alone so far by Marcus's goons. Anthea left the study locked; no need to let her friend know about John's home lab.

She tried to make tea, but her hands shook. Lindy took over, making Anthea sit at the kitchen table.

"Seriously, Thea, you need to see a doctor. I know you've had a shock, but you keep going as green as an Orion and you've walked into more people today than I've ever seen." Lindy frowned. "I may be beyond angry at your boyfriend, but I'm worried about you."

Anthea covered her face with her hands. "I don't need to see a doctor, and John Harrison isn't my boyfriend."

"Then what's _wrong_ with you?" Lindy demanded.

Her friend had to take several deep breaths before tears stopped threatening. "John isn't my boyfriend, Lin. He's my husband. And I'm not sick. I'm pregnant."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. What do you _mean_ , you're _married_?"

"John and I eloped four months ago. Almost five, actually. You're the first person I've told. Remember when I went with him to Betazed?"

". . . You got married in one of those kinky naked weddings?"

"No, Lin. We had clothes on. John's been staying with me since he quit working for Admiral Marcus. He's been agitated since it happened, but . . . I just can't see him doing this. I can't."

"All evidence points to him," her friend told her quietly. "And there's a lot of it."

"I know," Anthea whispered. "I know. I'd hoped that if I came down here, I could . . . prove it wasn't him, but how can I keep denying what's staring me in the face? How can I even think these things? He's my _husband_!"

"Spouses do horrible things all the time. It happens. But let's discuss the more important of your statements. You're pregnant."

Anthea dragged her fingers through her hair. "Most definitely. Visited a doctor in Scotland while I waited for word from . . . anyone."

"Wow. What are you doing to do?"

"I've no idea, Lin. No idea at all."

* * *

She spent the night at home, surrounded by John's things. She kept calling him, but he never answered. She wanted to talk to him, find out from _him_ what was going on. Where was he? Why had he left her like this?

The next morning, she went back to Edinburgh. It was common knowledge that someone had attacked Starfleet Headquarters, but no one was sure who. No one outside of Starfleet Intelligence or Anthea's immediate family, that was.

She drifted listlessly around the house, communicator in hand, waiting for a call that she was beginning to suspect would never come.

Then, as evening fell, the device chirped. Excitedly, she flipped it open. The little screen held two words.

_I'M SORRY_

She checked, but the sender was a signal she didn't know. She could only assume it was from John, but what was he sorry for? For London, for the attack on Headquarters that had killed Admiral Pike? For leaving her here to deal with this on her own?

She called the communicator that had sent the message, but got a signal telling her the channel was offline. Then she tried to call John yet again. Still nothing. Where _was_ he?

"Anthea!" her father bellowed.

She pounded down the stairs and into the parlour. Her father pointed wordlessly to the viewscreen.

"We have breaking news out of San Francisco, California, location of Starfleet Headquarters. We are told that an in-development ship has crashed in the city of San Francisco. There is no word yet on why, or what the ship is, but as you can see from the images, the devastation is catastrophic."

On screen, they showed images of an immense black ship crashing into the city. There was no mistaking the _USS Vengeance_. It was baffling and heartbreaking. Such destruction!

"How big _is_ that thing?" her father asked, as the view panned over the massive ship lying in ruins amongst toppled skyscrapers.

Anthea licked dry lips. "It's about three, three and a half times the size of the _Enterprise_ ," she whispered. "Nearly 1500 meters in length, a little over half as wide."

Her father twisted in his seat to look at her. "How d'ye know that?"

"Because John designed it."

She had to sit on the sofa. So far, her parents hadn't said anything regarding her revelation that she'd been involved with the most wanted man in the galaxy.

Once again, she fished out her communicator and this time, tried contacting Admiral Marcus. There was no response. None from John, either, yet again.

She pressed a hand to her belly, tears flooding her eyes and falling unheeded down her cheeks. How could this have happened? Where was John, and why hadn't he contacted her again?

What if he was dead?

Anthea tossed the communicator on the floor and stared at the news report, her heart breaking, as she realised she could no longer deny the truth.

* * *

Aboard the _USS Enterprise_ , one of the security officers glanced over at the bin of items confiscated from Harrison upon his capture. One of them was a communicator. It periodically chirped, had been doing so off and on for the last couple days. The display always read "Thea".

It wasn't his place to answer it, and anyway, who cared if this Khan guy had some girl trying to reach him?

The security officer silenced the communicator, then closed the lid of the bin. There. No more annoyances.

* * *

In the aftermath of the disaster in San Francisco, it came to light that John Harrison had killed Admiral Alexander Marcus, adding the head of Starfleet to the long, _long_ list of people whose lives had been lost because of one man's short and violent rampage.

Of course, the official story was that the ship had been on a shakedown flight and had experienced a massive malfunction that had crippled the guidance systems. It had operated under a skeleton crew, which had jettisoned in escape pods before the crash. Admiral Alexander Marcus and an unnamed Starfleet commander had sacrificed themselves in the attempt to keep the ship from plowing into the city. They had, according to the news reports, managed to land in the bay, instead of on the city itself, but had died in the crash.

Within Starfleet, it was known that John Harrison had hijacked the _Vengeance_ and crashed it in an attempt to take out Headquarters. None of the reports stated whether John had survived or not. Unofficial reports and news outlets talked about a chase through San Francisco involving an unnamed Starfleet officer and another unknown male, but that was as far as it went. She didn't see how he could have lived through it, and with the mention of an "unknown Starfleet commander" perishing, she was afraid it was her husband. Anthea didn't have the heart to dig deeper.

Anthea found herself lost in the shuffle. No one came to talk to her or question her. She was on leave due to the bombing of the archive, and hadn't been slotted into a position somewhere else.

After a few days, she went back to London, and the house she'd briefly shared with John. The place felt sickeningly empty without him. She walked in, remembered he was gone, and spent an hour sobbing on the floor of the foyer.

Eventually, Anthea rose and trudged up the stairs to the study. The equipment John had installed was all turned off and unplugged. An old notebook he'd dug up from somewhere lay open on the table, filled with incomprehensible notes in his scrawling hand. She ran her fingers over the scribbles, as if she could get some sense of him from it. But it was just paper, nothing more.

One page had a list, that seemed to be names, tightly packed on the page. Otto, Kati, Rodriguez, Joaquin, Chin, Yves . . . She didn't know who they were, but Kati- Could that have been his lost sister? She wondered.

One of his sweaters hung off the back of the chair. She picked it up, pressed her face into it, breathing in his scent. Choking back a sob, she left the study, locking it once more. In her bedroom, she crawled into bed with the sweater and fell into a fitful, uneasy sleep that was plagued by images of John.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**\--Chapter Fifteen--**

Eventually, Starfleet officials reassigned her to an administrative position at Smith-Tennant Airbase just outside London. She was still technically an intelligence officer, but no one really _trusted_ her, given her previous position. No one, it seemed, but the London division head of Starfleet Intelligence.

The DH was a distinguished older woman, her blonde hair turning silver, named Winter Brody. An American, she held the rank of Vice Admiral. Anthea was nervous meeting with her on her first day. Her life had been a mess since John had gone rogue, and she didn't have the faintest idea what was going to happen now.

"You may be wondering," Brody said, as Anthea took a seat directly opposite her at the woman's desk, "why I chose you, of all people, as my assistant. It's only known to some within Intelligence that you were, in fact, John Harrison's assistant, and while a few of those disagree with your continued employ by Starfleet, I don't happen to be one of them."

"You . . . aren't?"

"No. I also happen to be one of the only ranking officials within Section 31. With Marcus's death, it falls to me to handle operations. I'm aware of your work with Harrison on several projects for us, and while the regular Intelligence division isn't thrilled I'm keeping you on, I know not to waste a resource."

Anthea gulped. "Um. Thank you?"

"Don't be so timid, Agent Mackintosh. I know the past couple of months must have been very difficult, but I'm not out to coddle you. We need someone who's familiar with Harrison's work. As you were closest to him, thus the natural suspicion regarding you, we need you. Otherwise, you would likely be out of Starfleet by now."

She clenched her hands in her lap. Four years of loyal service, and this is what she had to show for it. Damn John for putting her in this position!

"I understand perfectly, sir. I'll do what I can to assist, though all I can speak to are the things I discussed with him. If there were things he was working on without informing me, I'm afraid I won't be much help in those quarters."

"You knew the man best of us, so you might be able to give insight anyway."

Anthea scoffed before she could stop herself. "Did I? I highly doubt that, sir."

The woman's dark eyes turned sympathetic. "For what it's worth, Agent, I don't believe you were involved with Harrison's attacks in London and San Francisco. I've read your statements and I know that you were in Scotland at the time. I also know your service record."

Anthea said nothing, merely let the other woman continue.

"I am also aware of your . . . condition. Since you've been seeing a Starfleet doctor, it's a matter of record now." Brody's expression was concerned, rather than pitying. "Am I correct in presuming that Commander Harrison is the father?"

Her throat closed up and tears immediately sprang to her eyes. Anthea squeezed them shut, willing herself not to cry. Everything made her emotional these days, and just the reminder that John hadn't known was enough to get to her. Even though she was furious with him, she couldn't help but wonder. If he'd known, would he have done it?

"It was a momentary indiscretion," she said once she'd got herself under control again. "I didn't know until shortly after . . . everything. I don't intend to blame the child for the sins of the father, but others might. I would appreciate it if . . ."

"Don't worry," Brody assured her. "It will never leave this office. But in future, I'd advise against workplace romances. It's against protocol, even for us, for a reason. After all, you never _really_ know what we're capable of."

"I am more aware than most on that count, sir," Anthea replied tightly.

"Yes, I'm sure you are."

* * *

Since many of the torpedoes had been elsewhere at the time of the London bombing, and the plans were stored on Starfleet's servers, those weren't much of an issue and Anthea had no involvement in their continued production. She did wonder, vaguely, why John had been so fixated on them, but she couldn't ask him now.

There were a lot of things she wished she'd asked him, but she didn't know if he would have given her an honest answer if she had. It gutted her, not knowing what had been a lie, or if anything he'd said to her had been the truth. Had he loved her at all?

When she wasn't handling things for Vice Admiral Brody, she spent her days pouring over what records they'd been able to salvage from the archive facility. She never told them that John had a copy of nearly everything stored on his computer in her study, that she had blueprints and drafts of everything from his disruptor cannon to the USS Vengeance stored in a cabinet there. That would lead to more questions than she was prepared for.

There were no trips off-planet for her. Brody didn't want her straying far, which was understandable given Anthea's rapidly advancing pregnancy. For the most part, no one commented on the matter. When pressed, she said she'd had a drunken one-nighter with one of the now-deceased security guards at the archive, and decided after his death to keep the child.

But in private, she mourned John.

* * *

The days blurred. She woke in the morning, and thought of John.

She showered and dressed, and thought of John.

She ate breakfast, drove to work. Thought of John.

Consulted with engineers. Went to meetings with Vice Admiral Brody.

Always, always, thought of John.

Anthea had moved past the shock of San Francisco and into a sort of numb form of grief. She lived for the baby only. The first time she felt her child move was the first time she had really felt _anything_ in months. Anthea took care of herself, but nothing _mattered_ anymore.

Nothing except the child she carried, that grew day by day and swelled her belly until she could no longer see her feet. The random sobbing had stopped, though the nightmares had not, and during her waking hours, she just . . . existed.

* * *

Even though its primary facility had been lost, Section 31 continued without pause. A memorial was planned for the site, and under it, naturally, they had to shore up the damage done by the explosion. Anthea wasn't at all surprised to find that they rebuilt the facility there, since they already had the hole and one of the terminals had suffered only slight damage. It was still under construction at the end of summer, the entire site blocked off from prying eyes by a hastily-erected structure that had no windows.

"I really don't like this idea," Anthea told Brody, as they surveyed the construction. "If you're going to bother rebuilding it, do it somewhere else where casualties will be less if something happens."

"You mean if one of our own goes off the rails and blows it up again?" Brody asked mildly. "Maybe, but I didn't make that decision."

"Who did?"

The woman just gave her a look and turned back to her inspection.

It unsettled her to know that there were still people in charge who cared that little for the lives of those in service with them. She had theories about why John had done what he did, but she'd never have expected him to do so in such a large-scale manner. In retrospect, she would have thought him to be more like an assassin.

Then again, if John had been right about Marcus's intentions to start a war, he couldn't have been alone in that. Section 31 was too-well organised and funded for all of Starfleet's leaders to be oblivious. Marcus felt, to Anthea, like a personal vendetta of John's. The rest of it, she couldn't be sure about, but as she stood by Brody and watched the sheer number of construction workers crawling over the lattice-like frame of the new complex, she had to wonder if the corruption Marcus had engendered went further than she'd thought.

* * *

Her first wedding anniversary passed with no fanfare. If Anthea could have drunk herself stupid that day, she would have. But she had her child to think of.

She still had the photo from Betazed on her nightstand, still looked at it every morning when she woke and every night before she slept. She couldn't make herself put it away. She _missed_ him, and even though he'd been gone longer than they'd been together, she couldn't help still needing him with ever fibre of her being.

Curled in the chair by the fireplace in her study, Anthea sipped a glass of juice, pretending it was wine.

"I wish you were here," she said aloud, to her absent husband. "So I could ask you why you did it. Why did you leave me, leave us? What was so important to you, that you could get from killing Marcus and the others, that you'd leave me?"

The bell rang, interrupting her thoughts. For one heart-stopping moment, she wondered if it was John come home to her.

Anthea levered herself out of the chair-nothing was easy these days-and padded down the stairs in her slippers to the door.

It was only Lindy, though, come to cheer her up. She smiled and let her friend in, but inside, she wished she could be alone with the ghost of her husband.

* * *

Her mother came to visit in late September, when Anthea was closing in on the final days of her pregnancy. She didn't want the visit, didn't want her mother's criticisms and questions. But as a dutiful daughter, she welcomed the woman who had given birth to her with open arms.

Tea was her mother's answer to everything. As they drank the brew-non-caffeinated for Anthea, because of the baby-and ate stupid little finger sandwiches, Martha Mackintosh waxed on about baby showers, what she thought her grandchild should be named, and what Anthea should do with her life now.

"All I'm saying is, sweetheart, that you need to think about what's best for you and your baby. I know this is the twenty-third century, but call me old-fashioned. I think a child should have two parents."

Anthea's hands shook. It took her a second to realise that she was feeling rage. Rage at her mother, rage at John. Rage at herself. She let out a ragged cry and threw the tea cup. It smashed against the wall, showering ceramic everywhere.

Sobbing, she sank to the floor, her arms wrapped around the bulk of her belly. After a moment, her mother knelt beside her and pulled her into her lap like she had when Anthea was a child.

"He's gone, Mum! He left me with such a mess, and I'll never know if any of what we had was real! And I can't talk about it because- because then I have to admit that I-"

"That you loved a man who hurt you and betrayed you?" her mother asked in a very soft voice.

Anthea shook her head. Tears poured unheeded down her cheeks. "I didn't- We didn't tell anyone. I only told Lindy, because- He'd just attacked Starfleet, I'd just found out about the baby."

"Didn't tell anyone what?"

"John and I were married a year ago. I'm the wife- or maybe the widow, of the second-worst terrorist this century." Granted, John hadn't destroyed an entire planet. He hadn't been _that_ insane. "I don't know if he's even still alive, or if he is, _where_ he is. I don't know _why_ he did it. And I can't ask. I have to protect the baby."

"You really think the baby could be in danger?"

"Mum, my husband crashed a starship into San Francisco and killed twelve thousand people."

". . . Oh. Yes, I see."

Anthea ran her hands over her belly. She pressed lightly, and the baby kicked in response. She had to smile. Even though she'd lost John, even though he'd betrayed her and everyone and done unthinkably horrible things, the child she carried was her one spot of joy in a very dark universe.

"Do you know what it is yet?" her mother asked.

"Not yet. I know the baby is healthy, but I want to be surprised."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**\--Chapter Sixteen--**

September left, and October arrived. Anthea was counting the days now, anxiously awaiting the birth of her child. She was heavily and uncomfortable, and she barely slept. Sitting for too long was difficult, but so was standing. She took to walking to ease the pressure on her hips. She had just returned from a short one around the office area when Brody summoned her into her office.

"You need me, sir?"

"Sit, you're making me nervous," Brody told her. "How much longer do you have?"

"Six weeks, sir. And I'm feeling every one of them." Anthea did as ordered, sinking into the chair. It wasn't as comfortable as her own, probably to keep visitors from staying long.

Brody smiled ruefully. "I remember how that was with my daughter. It'll be over soon enough, and then you'll have that baby to take care of."

"Yes, sir."

The vice admiral opened a drawer on her desk and pulled out a PADD. Silently, she slid it across the desk.

Anthea picked it up. "What is this?"

"It's a copy of a classified report filed yesterday. Conclusions from the investigation into Commander John Harrison. It's a little above your security level-which is surprisingly high, only I, Admiral Marcus, and a few others had higher clearance-but given the things contained in it, and your . . . unique situation, I thought you'd need to see it. There's information contained in it that could impact you for decades to come. You and your child."

"I . . . Thank you. Can I take this with me?"

"Just be careful with it. Your eyes only."

"I understand."

"Go ahead and take the rest of the day. You look like you're ready to drop."

"I will. Thank you, sir."

* * *

She waited until she was safely home before looking at the files on the PADD. The device had no connection to outside servers; it was a stand-alone device, and all it contained was every scrap of information Starfleet had been able to acquire concerning her husband.

As good as they were, though, they didn't have the piece that was most important to her, and, hopefully, they never would.

She curled up in the chair in her study, amidst John's equipment, and pulled up the classified report. It contained his official Starfleet records, and-

"What?" Anthea said aloud.

That couldn't be right. According to this, John Harrison had only existed from 2258, two months before she'd met him. She'd never seen that before, but then, other than a cursory glance that first day, she hadn't bothered to spend any time in his file. She'd simply trusted Admiral Marcus, and John himself. What a mistake that had been.

Perplexed, Anthea scanned the file further. And she nearly dropped the PADD. There, in the official report from one Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_ , it stated that Commander John Harrison was, in fact, Khan Noonien Singh, who had been in cryosleep after he and his people had fled Earth . . . in 1998.

"What the _bloody hell_?!"

According to what Starfleet had dug up, Khan Singh and his people were a result of the Eugenics Wars in the last quarter of the twentieth century, genetically engineered to be faster, smarter, stronger. Inspired by the eugenics efforts of the Nazis during World War II, various groups had raced to create the perfect soldier.

What they'd ended up with was a collection of several hundred superior humans that had wreaked havoc on the planet and begun World War III in 1991. They had found for supremacy amongst themselves, and the world had been divided between various superpowered warlords until one took a quarter of the planet, ruling with an iron hand. That man's name was Khan Singh.

It wasn't known what race, exactly, this Khan was, though he'd been born to a surrogate mother in 1970, one of the geneticists working on the project for India. They hadn't had artificial wombs then, so any modified embryo had to be implanted in a human host. Khan's had been Sarina Kaur, a woman who had, as John had told her, died in an explosion at her lab some four years later.

When the Eugenics Wars had ended, some of the "augmented" humans managed to escape. Estimates were around eighty. Their number included Khan Noonien Singh. In 2258, shortly after the destruction of Vulcan, a Section 31 ship had located the _SS Botany Bay_ , a twentieth-century ship with no warp drive, adrift between solar systems.

Alexander Marcus had made the decision to revive the leader of the condemned race and use him to design weapons for Starfleet. John Harrison had been created, and assigned to Section 31.

Anthea had to put the PADD down and go for a walk. She couldn't sit long these days, with the weight of the baby pressing on her internal organs. She went 'round the block four times, her mind whirling with all the new information.

John hadn't been real. His whole existence was a lie.

Back in her study, Anthea picked up the PADD again and finished reading. According to the investigation, Marcus had promised Khan that once he'd designed weapons and ships for Starfleet, he would be released and his people awoken from their sleep. Marcus had lied, and when Khan attempted to free his people on his own, he'd been forced to flee. Within days, he'd arranged for Thomas Harewood to bomb the London facility, and he'd attacked and killed half a roomful of Starfleet commanding officers.

He'd fled to Qo'noS, where he'd been captured by Captain Kirk. Then, in a confrontation with Admiral Marcus aboard the _USS Vengeance_ , Khan had killed Marcus and then attempted to destroy the _Enterprise_. The end result had been the crash of the _Vengeance_ into San Francisco. One Commander Spock had captured Khan. They had used the man's blood to revive a critically-injured Kirk.

After that, all record of Khan, alias John Harrison, ended. The file just stopped. Anthea did what she could to pull up more, but there was nothing else. Why did it stop? What had happened to her husband after that? Was he dead? Was he imprisoned somewhere?

She considered contacting Vice Admiral Brody, but doubted the woman would tell her anything. They'd cut the end of the file off for a reason, which seemed entirely unfair to Anthea.

Anthea sat for a long time, curled in the chair, trying to process everything she'd learned. In retrospect, knowing what she'd just learned, so much of John's actions were suddenly clear. And yet, she still didn't know why he'd kept her in the dark. Had he thought she wouldn't understand his need to save his people? Had he not trusted her? He could make love to her, sleep beside her, but not tell her who he really was. Why?

She studied the images of John Harrison, and the file photos of Khan Noonien Singh. His hair had been longer back then, nearly to his shoulders. But the eyes . . . Those were the same. And yet, the man in the photo was a stranger. Had she ever seen any of the real man? How much of the last two years of her life had been an utter lie?

She wanted to talk to Lindy, even though she knew she couldn't tell her best friend _everything_ she'd just learned. There was so much going through her head. She didn't know what any of it meant for her child, but it would explain why Anthea hadn't contracted any illnesses during her entire pregnancy.

Throwing on one of John's abandoned coats, a nice long one in a rather surprising silver, that was big enough to cover her belly, Anthea went out to the hovercar she'd been assigned from Starfleet. It had been so nice of the vice admiral to arrange it for her, since using the Tube was, in the older woman's opinion, too dangerous at this time of her pregnancy.

She had a feeling the car had a tracking device in it so they could keep an eye on where she went, but she didn't particularly care. Lindy was her only friend, and worked in the same complex Anthea did.

It was late enough that Lindy should be home. She drove over, taking extra care because of her admitted distraction. She called her friend on the dashboard communicator.

"Hello?"

"Lin, it's me. I need to talk to you. I'm on my way over. Feel like joining me for dinner?"

"Sure. I'll meet you downstairs."

As promised, Lindy was waiting at the curb when Anthea pulled up. She got into the hovercar.

"I'm still jealous of this thing," her friend admitted. "Though not of _that_."

Anthea looked wryly at her belly. It was the main reason she usually used the autopilot these days. The manual controls were difficult to manage with her stomach in the way. "Yeah. Soon, though . . ."

"So what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Suddenly, she realised she couldn't say anything about what she'd learned to Lindy. If she did, she'd have to explain how she knew, and Vice Admiral Brody had trusted her with the information for her baby only.

"Baby shower," she said. "I know I said I didn't want one, but I think I do now. Mum was making noises, so . . . you think you and she could throw one together?"

"Don't see why not. Sure. I _am_ happy for you. I can't imagine how hard this has been, and I'm sorry that I haven't been able to be there for you much lately." Lindy was engaged to the coffee shop boy she'd once joked about having a fling with, and was deeply immersed in planning her wedding. "You're still gonna be my Maid of Honour, right?"

"I hope so."

Anthea hadn't really allowed herself to contemplate the future, outside of taking care of herself so that she'd have a healthy baby. The child meant everything to her, especially now. And with her due date so close, she needed to start actively planning.

She might as well start by letting them throw her a shower.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**\--Chapter Seventeen--**

It could have been the stress of learning John's true identity. Or maybe it was something with the child's genetics. Either way, Anthea went into labour at work just three days later.

She was rushed to the base's hospital. The doctors attempted to delay delivery, since she was still six weeks from her due date, but Khan Noonien Singh's child was very determined to enter the world. After a short, grueling labour that only lasted five hours, Anthea gave birth to a surprisingly healthy baby boy.

Lindy was there from start to finish. Anthea's mother arrived halfway through, and the two women commiserated on not getting to throw a shower _before_ the baby was born.

When they handed the swaddled infant to Anthea, she stared in exhausted wonder at her son. His hair was just as dark as his father's, with brilliant and oddly focused blue eyes. Somehow, Anthea knew that one day, they would be the same intense, pale colour of his sire.

"Ohh, he's so cute!" Lindy cooed. "Look at his little fingers!"

"What are you going to name him?" her mother asked.

"Nolan," Anthea said after a moment. "Nolan John Harrison."

Her mother's expression turned serious. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She shrugged. "Legally, that's his last name, Mum."

Knowing a lost cause when she saw one, her mother didn't argue.

* * *

In the days after giving birth, Anthea mostly slept, or woke to feed the baby. She had plenty of time to contemplate everything she'd come to know about the man she'd married, but she didn't want to. It was hard enough to think that John had only been a cover. Knowing that her husband had been nearly three hundred years older than her was more than she could handle at the moment.

Maternity leave for Starfleet was an automatic three months, with an option to extend to six. Anthea had nothing to worry about except tending her new baby. Her mother came to stay with her for a little while, which was nice because Anthea was beyond exhausted. She slept with Nolan in a bed attached to her own, so she could rest her hand on his little back and check that he was still breathing.

She'd lost John, and she was terrified of losing Nolan as well. Her little boy was her entire world now.

She could watch her baby for hours, she discovered, even if all he did was sleep. His dark hair was a cloud of fine wisps around his little head, his eyes such a startling blue. She would lie in bed and just drink in the sight of his little face as he watched her, or the little mobile she'd bought.

She didn't have John anymore, but she had this wonderful little piece of him, and that gave her comfort more than anything had in nearly a year. Her sweet, happy little boy who had already learned to smile at just a few weeks, had filled a large part of the hole in her heart.

She just wished John could have known him.

* * *

For the first time, Anthea had done nothing for Christmas; Nolan was too little to even be aware of the holiday, and she had no desire to celebrate. She went to visit her parents, just so she wouldn't be alone. She gave them token gifts, let them fawn over their grandson. But she was hollow inside, still. Her one bright spot was Nolan's little, toothless grin.

When she got home, she decided it was time to clean up some of the mess John had left in the study. Anthea packed away his notebooks and his blueprints, shoving it all into the cupboard in the corner.

Under a set of prints for the _Vengeance_ , she found the lightsaber she'd given him the year before. When she picked it up, it felt heavier than she remembered. A press of the "ignition switch" made the thing flare to life, with a snap-hiss and a burst of red light.

She had to sit on the floor and laugh. It couldn't all have been a lie, she realised, because he'd fixed the damn thing. The silly toy she'd given him had meant enough that he'd tinkered with the nearly-three-hundred-year-old circuits until it worked again. Examining it closer, she saw he'd repaired the places where it was flawed, patched the cracks and fragile spots.

Abruptly, she realised the laughter had turned to tears, and she hugged the humming thing to her chest and cried for what she'd lost.

* * *

The invitation to the memorial service came just after Christmas.

She stared at it for a long time, not really sure what to make of it. True, it wasn't common knowledge by any means that she had, unintentionally, had a hand in the disaster, but why would anyone have sent _her_ an invitation to it?

The ceremony was intended to memorialise the dead from the San Francisco disaster, as well as those of the archive facility. It would also be the rechristening of the _USS Enterprise_ , which had nearly been destroyed the same day as the crash.

"What do you think, No?" she asked her son. "Should we go to this to-do? I don't really care to, but since your daddy was responsible, we probably should. Pay our respects and all that."

The eleven-week-old just cooed at her and chewed on one of his feet.

* * *

_San Francisco, CA_   
_2260.10_

Since she was still on leave, and would be for a few more months, Anthea didn't need to ask for time off when the day rolled around. She just packed her little boy up, along with clothes and baby essentials for a weekend away, and caught a transport from London to San Francisco.

She checked into a hotel not far from HQ, one that had been built in the last year to replace one of the destroyed structures. She felt odd, as if she shouldn't _be_ there, even though she was compelled to attend by her own conscience. Anthea changed into one of her dressier Starfleet uniforms, affixed her division badge over her heart, and gathered up the baby. He wasn't fussy, so she figured she'd be able to sit through the ceremony without him causing a ruckus.

At the plaza, she took a seat at the back and settled Nolan at her feet. Her baby was sound asleep, all tucked in with his blanket-one of John's sweaters that she'd repurposed because it was the softest thing she had. Anthea tucked a lock of her newly-shortened hair behind her ear. John had liked it long, and she'd had it nearly to her waist during her marriage, but she'd quickly discovered that having a newborn to tend, especially one as grabby as Nolan, made longer hair impractical and tiring. She'd shorn it just below her shoulders. The bounce of it was taking a bit to get used to.

She'd looked up James Tiberius Kirk after reading his report about her husband. He had a spotty service record and a few citations for breaking the rules, even going against the Prime Directive a time or two. But he was charismatic and handsome, a sandy-blonde man with brilliantly blue eyes and wide shoulders, even taller than John had been. He cut a smart figure in his dress greys, and he spoke eloquently.

When it was over, she quickly picked up Nolan's carrier and went to the podium, wanting to catch the captain before he left. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to say when she got there, but she needed to say _something_.

* * *

Caught up to the present, Anthea finished telling her story, and they all looked at the baby at her feet.

"Yes," Anthea said. "My son, Nolan. Khan's- _John_ 's son."

"An interesting distinction to make," Spock commented.

Anthea looked up, her grey eyes moist. "John is dead. I didn't know this- this Khan. Khan is not who I married, even if . . . the man himself was the same."

"How old is he?" McCoy asked, gesturing to the baby. "You mind if I examine him?"

Anthea hesitated. "He's three months old. I . . . suppose you can."

The doctor was nothing but gentle as he lifted Nolan out of his carrier. She could see that he had experience with babies, wondered briefly if he had any of his own. Nolan stared up at the man as McCoy settled him on his knees; the baby just gazed, rather unblinking, at the doctor.

"What are you going to do now?" Uhura asked Anthea.

"I don't know. I don't want to continue with Section 31 like I have. It's been too . . . difficult for me."

"This is why Vulcans value both honesty and the regulation of emotions," Spock put in. "We do not lie, and we do not let our emotions rule our decisions."

Kirk snorted and then clapped a hand over his mouth. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. We all know how Vulcans don't lie."

The two men exchanged a look, and Uhura looked a little amused. It was obviously an inside joke with the crew, one Anthea was oblivious about. She paid more attention to what Doctor McCoy was doing, anyway.

"He sure is a serious little guy," the doctor told her.

"He can be. I think he isn't sure what's going on, so he's . . . assessing."

"That's kind of advanced for a three-month-old, isn't it?" Kirk asked.

Anthea lifted grey eyes to his face. "The son of Khan Noonien Singh can't really be expected to conform to normal human standards, can he?"

"She has a point," Spock said. "It is impossible to know at this point how his inherited genetics will affect his development. As his father was genetically engineered to be superior to regular humans, it is likely that they are also dominant and all other genetics recessive in contrast."

"So we've got a superbaby on our hands," Kirk said.

McCoy said, "I dunno, he seems pretty normal to me. I mean, it's been a while since I've treated an infant, but I don't see anything unusual about this little guy."

He handed Nolan back to Anthea. She laid the baby against her chest and smoothed his dark hair, taking comfort in the weight of his little head against her shoulder.

The others left not long after. Kirk watched her cradle the baby.

"If you want," he offered, "I could . . . tell you about those last couple days."

"I read the report," she murmured.

"I didn't put everything in it."

Her grey eyes lifted to his. She didn't speak, but was curious.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"Not since the transport from London, no."

"C'mon. My place isn't far. Might be more comfortable and you can put the little guy down for a nap."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**\--Chapter Eighteen--**

She had no reason to trust James Kirk, really, other than the one thing that had really stood out in his report: he'd been sent to Qo'noS to kill her husband, a man who had taken dozens of lives by that point, and he'd refused to do it. He'd refused to kill Khan when it would have been understandable to nearly everyone.

It was chilly as they made their way to Kirk's apartment. She didn't worry about Nolan; his carrier was temperature-controlled and kept her little boy cozy even in January. Kirk was on the fifteenth floor of a building two blocks from Headquarters, the opposite direction from her hotel.

"Uh, sorry, it's a little . . . messy."

He scrambled around the apartment, gathering up various objects scattered around. She didn't care about the state it was in, though the woman's thong he retrieved from the sofa, his face going red, was amusing.

Anthea set Nolan's carrier down by the sofa and checked on him. He was asleep, sucking on a little thumb.

"He really is a cute little guy," Kirk said.

"Thank you. He means the world to me."

"I don't have much in the way of food right now, but the replicator's working. What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything but Indian," she answered.

"Gotcha."

He fiddled around in the kitchen for a bit, then brought out two plates, both laden with burgers and fried potatoes. "Burgers are easy," he explained.

She accepted it and balanced the plate on her knees. "You really don't need to go to the trouble."

His incredibly blue eyes seemed to bore into her. "I feel like I do. So, uh . . . Go ahead and eat."

They ate in silence, with Anthea checking on Nolan at intervals. When they'd finished, Kirk took the plates into the kitchen.

"I don't want to offend you, but I gotta say, it's . . . just so _weird_ , knowing this guy had this whole domestic thing set up. All this time, I've just seen Khan as a terrorist and a murderer, but to _you_ , he was, like . . ."

"Family," she said. "He was my family. My husband, the future father of my children."

"Right. The Khan I met? Total machine. Only time I saw emotion out of him was when he got pissed off at Marcus and-" Kirk stopped. "He killed him," he finished lamely.

"The reports didn't say _how_ ," she said.

"Yeah, uhhhh. Carol Marcus and I, we didn't put that in."

"Tell me?"

He grimaced. "You sure you wanna know?"

Anthea only nodded.

Kirk shook his head and moved to sit on the sofa. "He crushed Marcus's skull with his bare hands."

". . . Oh." Disgusting, but not entirely surprising. She already knew Khan was incredibly strong.

"Yeah, it was . . . a bit much."

She looked at her hands, at the ring John had given her. "I hate that there's so much I don't know," she told Kirk. "So much he kept from me. Things you've known for a year, when I learned them only recently."

"I doubt there's much you don't know now," he remarked. "I looked you up, when I was in the kitchen. Chunks of your file are out of my security clearance."

Anthea smirked. "I'm Starfleet Intelligence, Kirk. Of course they are."

"Jim, please." He got up and poured himself a whiskey. He offered her one, but she declined, indicating Nolan.

"Oh, right. Probably not a good idea."

She twisted the ruby on her finger. "I really only have one question, I find, of the time he was on your ship. Did . . . he ever mention me?"

"Not to me, he didn't. No. Sorry. I did get the feeling he was insanely protective of those he cared about, so he might not have anyway. I honestly don't know. I didn't know him very well, and our conversations lasted for a grand total of about ten, fifteen minutes tops. I caught him on Qo'noS, talked to him a few times on the _Enterprise_ , we went over to the _Vengeance_ to deal with Marcus, and then he beat the shit out of me and beamed me back to my ship before trying to blow us up."

He drained his whiskey and set the glass on the coffee table. "I can't offer more than that. We weren't real sociable with each other."

"I see."

Nolan stirred, yawning with a little yapping sound. Anthea leaned over to tuck his blanket in a little better.

"You know . . . my dad died when I was only a couple minutes old," Jim said. "My mom eventually remarried, but she never really got over him."

"I've read about the _Kelvin_ ," Anthea told him. "I did, technically speaking, work at the Kelvin Memorial Archive."

"That's right." Kirk nodded. "I'm just saying . . . You remind me a lot of her. I may _really_ not like the guy you married, but I . . . I'm impressed you've kept it together for your son. I can't imagine how difficult-"

"It's been hard," she said, cutting him off. "And to be honest, I'm tired of people expressing their sympathy. I don't need it. What I need is to forget, just for a little while."

"Yeah, I get that."

"You know, I may want that drink after all," she said.

He got up and fetched her one. Seated back on the sofa, he contemplated her in silence, watching as she held the tumbler of whiskey but didn't touch drink any of it. Eventually she set it aside and brushed a hand at her dark hair.

Kirk didn't get how Khan could have abandoned the woman sitting before him. It just proved in his own mind that Khan was a cold, manipulative, unfeeling bastard. He'd done all those things for a bunch of frozen people, leaving behind a living, breathing, beautiful woman. The man had definitely been crazy.

Of course, he might have been a little crazy himself, because he suddenly found himself thinking about kissing her. How messed up was _that_?

Still, he found himself moving to sit closer to her on the sofa. "I'm sorry that I can't be more help. I'm not really sure what it is you wanted from me, anyway."

"Neither am I, to be honest. I suppose I just needed to talk to someone, someone who was there. I'm still trying to understand _why_."

She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. He _hated_ it when women cried. He never knew what to do.

Without thinking, Kirk pulled her into his arms.

She leaned against him, not caring for a moment that this man was technically her husband's enemy. She hadn't been held in so long. Her mum's hugs didn't count, not like this.

Eventually, her tears stopped. When Kirk said her name, she looked up, found his face a scant inch from hers.

When Kirk's mouth found hers, Anthea realised just how long it had been since she'd been touched, or how long since she'd been kissed. She wasn't particularly attracted to the man, but she'd been alone so long.

She shouldn't. She knew it, and yet she let him draw her to her feet and into his bedroom, where she shed her jacket and her shoes.

His was big and strong, built wider than her John and taller, bigger, though not as powerful. His fingers were shorter, his hand rougher to the touch on her arm as it slid up from her elbow to cup the back of her neck. And his taste was so different.

For a space of time, Anthea didn't care. She ached to have that void filled, even for a little while, even with _him_. For all she knew, the fact that he had some of Khan's blood within him had changed him, done something to him that called to her.

Afterwards, she rose and gathered her clothes. Kirk hadn't been the best she'd had-no one could compare to John, she suspected, and everyone would lack ever after-but the experience had been . . . adequate.

Who had she become? she wondered, as she hunted for her bra. Shamelessly bedding a man she'd just met, a man who had attempted to kill her own husband.

"I'm sorry," he said behind her. "That was wrong of me. I don't know what I was thinking."

Anthea tugged her blouse back into place. "It's not your fault, Captain Kirk. I was equally to blame."

"Yeah. I guess it feels like cheating, though."

"Surprisingly, yes."

"I mean, he's frozen and he's gonna stay that way, so it's like he's dead, but still."

He couldn't see, because she was turned away, but her hands stilled in fastening the buttons.

"John Harrison is dead," Anthea said aloud. "I've had a year to come to terms with that."

Inwardly, her mind raced. He was _alive_ , for certain? She didn't know how to handle that news. She felt oily enough after what had just transpired. Knowing that she had technically just cheated on her husband was enough to make her nauseated, despite her claims that the man was dead to her anyway.

Still, it was a price she was willing to pay just for the news that he _lived_. He hadn't died in the crash!

A very crazy idea occurred to her in that moment, and she missed what Kirk said. "Pardon?"

"I said, I hope you won't hold it against me if we . . . leave it as a one-time thing."

"Considering it shouldn't have happened in the first place, I don't think that will be a problem," she told him sardonically.

He looked relieved. "Okay. 'Cause, uh . . . Well. All the, er, stuff aside, I'm headed out in a couple days on this extended mission. Five years in space."

Anthea shoved her feet into her shoes. "I sincerely hope you enjoy it and make it back."

"Thanks. Um."

"Let's just leave it as it is, Captain, and not make this any more awkward."

She gathered her things, found Nolan still sound asleep in his carrier in the living room. A stab of guilt nearly gutted her. But it was such a small crime, compared to the ones his father had committed.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**\--Chapter Nineteen--**  
  
San Francisco never slept these days. It, like London, was open and populated every hour of the day.  
  
The plaza with the memorial to those lost when the _USS Vengeance_ crashed into the city, however, was empty at this hour. It was midway between Kirk's apartment and her hotel, so she stopped to view it on her own, when others weren't around.  
  
It was a big, curving structure, with names crammed into every available space on all vertical surfaces. There were over twelve-thousand names engraved into the black, shiny granite. And these were just the known victims, those who had someone to report them missing, or who had been identified. Who knew how many others had been lost that had none to claim them as their own?  
  
One section, on a narrower side, held the names of Starfleet personnel who'd died that day. There was a similar one in London that she'd visited, another memorial ceremony she'd been to.  
  
She found it halfway down the alphabetical list, fingers skimming over the notches in the cold stone as she took in the names.  
  
CDR JOHN HARRISON  
  
There, then, was final confirmation that Starfleet had chosen to hide the truth. She'd thought for sure, until tonight, that he'd either died of injuries sustained in the crash of the Vengeance, or had been quietly executed once captured. But according to Kirk, her husband still lived.  
  
She pressed her hand flat over the engraving and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the granite.  
  
"Part of me wants to hate you," she whispered. "But part of me misses you so much that it hurts to breathe still. Why did you go? Why did you- So many people, John. You hurt _so many people_ , and for what? Six dozen people who aren't even your flesh and blood? Was I not enough for you? Was I just a pawn in your little game, your plan to get back at Marcus for using you? I don't blame you for being angry with him, but dammit, John, why did you have to use me to do it? Why did you have to make me love you so damn much, and then leave me like we meant nothing?"  
  
A chill breeze whistled past, ruffling her hair and tugging at her jacket. All else was silence.  
  


* * *

  
A week after she returned to London, Anthea woke with a curious feeling of absolute calm. She knew without question what she was going to do. The horrible hollow in her gut left by John was now filled with a sense of purpose.  
  
She got up, fed the baby, put her hair in a ponytail, and then set about dealing with rest of the stuff in the study. She hadn't touched it since Christmas, but now she worked to dismantle the equipment John had set up. The ones she'd watched or helped him put together were easy to take care of and pack away. Others she wasn't sure about, so she made a note on a growing list to have it professionally moved. She needed the stuff out of her house and stored elsewhere.  
  
By evening, she had most of it dealt with. The next day, she tackled packing John's things, save for his long silver coat, and got that squared away as well. Packing now would make things so much easier later, she'd decided.  
  
Anthea wasn't quite ready to go back to work, but she decided for expediency to cut her leave short. With her new drive and focus, she hated the idea of wasted time. And while she adored her son beyond reason, staying home with him all day was beginning to drive her a little mad.  
  


* * *

  
Two weeks after her return to work, Anthea approached her supervisor and said, "I've requested a transfer to San Francisco."  
  
Vice Admiral Brody looked surprised. "Why?"  
  
"When I was there, for the memorial service and the rechristening of the _Enterprise_ , I saw the extent of the damage that Jo- that Commander Harrison did. I know that it isn't my _fault_ , sir, but I still feel that I could have done something beforehand, perhaps. I don't know. I want to help in the efforts there. I need to do more to . . . rebuild, rather than continue working on this project."  
  
Brody studied her in silence for so long that Anthea began to think she was angry.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, if this comes at a bad time, or . . . is an inconvenience. But being here is too much of a reminder, and with my son . . ."  
  
"I understand. I'm a little surprised at your choice of transfer, but I understand. I even applaud it. If this is really what you want to do, I'll approve it. Now, you do realise that as an Intelligence agent, you may be called on to do things for us, even if you're positioned elsewhere?"  
  
"Certainly, sir. But I would like it known that my child comes first for me."  
  
Brody nodded. "How _is_ Nolan, by the way?"  
  
Anthea broke into a wide smile. "He's wonderful. He's mastered rolling over, all by himself. He's only four months old, but I think he's going to start crawling as soon as he can figure out how."  
  
"He's a smart one. He obviously takes after his father." Brody met her gaze, her stare significant. "Make sure he doesn't take after him too closely."  
  
"I will do my best."  
  


* * *

  
  
Informing her mother of her move to San Francisco didn't go over as well.  
  
"But I'll never see the baby! What about your life here?"  
  
"Mum, it's an hour and a half from Edinburgh to California. And that's on the slowest transports. And _what_ life here? I work, and I tend Nolan. That's all I do. I . . . I need a fresh start, Mum."  
  
Her mother set down her teacup. "I understand," she said. "Too many memories here."  
  
Anthea nodded. She pressed her hand briefly to her mouth, then said, "Everywhere I go, I see him. And here, in this house . . . He's in everything. I can't escape, and I'm tired of hurting, of doubting and wondering. I have a position in San Francisco, I'm going to be in an engineering department at the Daystrom Institute. I'm not an engineer, but I know enough that I won't be completely in over my head. It's more of an administrative role than anything, but I've had plenty of that."  
  
Her mother frowned. "You were an archivist, though. How does that equate?"  
  
"I've been working with an engineering department off and on since I was assigned to the base, Mum." She sighed. "I really shouldn't be telling you this. You have to promise you won't breathe a word of it to anyone, even Dad."  
  
"Does it have to do with John?" Martha asked.  
  
Anthea nodded. "The truth is, I'm not an archivist and never really was. I was actually- Well, I swore rather rigorously not to tell anyone about it, but I'm tired of lying. I'm Starfleet Intelligence, Mum. I have been since I graduated the academy. The archive job was a cover."  
  
Her mother blinked grey eyes. ". . . You're a _spy_?"  
  
She had to laugh. "Not for a while, not technically. But essentially, yes. John was, too. He was an intelligence agent and an engineer, and I was his assistant. That's why they came looking for him at your place when the archive was destroyed. He didn't do it, the bombing, but- It's complicated, and classified. I shouldn't have said _this_ much. I'm just so tired of lying about it all, Mum."  
  
Her mother reached across the table and took her hand. "I won't say anything to anyone, sweetheart. And I understand why you need to go. I'll miss being able to pop down and see you and my grandbaby, but I'm sure I can adjust to you being in California. Just . . . do try not to get yourself hurt."  
  
"I'm not a field agent," she assured her mother. "Never really have been. And what I'm going to be doing has nothing to do with that side of things. I really am just going to be the admin that herds the engineers around."  
  
It would, she thought, be a nice change for a while.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**\--Chapter Twenty--**

Lindy was married in late March, and Anthea stood up for her as promised. She was happy that Lindy was so absorbed in her new husband. It made the coming separation easier.

That was what she wanted now: to disappear quietly into the ether.

She took Nolan in for a check-up shortly before leaving London. Anthea wanted a full eval by a pediatrician before she moved, and a recommendation for one in the San Francisco area. She didn't think Nolan was likely to get sick, not as the child of Khan Noonien Singh. But she wanted to be prepared, just in case. She didn't know how long her still-forming plan was going to take, and she wanted the best care for her baby.

Nolan was given an absolutely perfect bill of health, which didn't surprise Anthea in the slightest. He was in the top percentile on everything. Armed with a referral to a pediatrician in the Bay Area, Anthea left with the baby in tow.

In the entrance, she ran, almost literally, into a mother and daughter as they entered the hospital. "Sorry," she exclaimed, before she looked up. "I need to pay more attention to where I'm-"

Anthea cut off as she realised she'd just run into Rima Harewood. "Oh."

The woman smiled vaguely. "No need for apologies. I can see this handsome little man had your attention."

The girl at her side peered into Nolan's carrier. "Hi, baby!"

Anthea swallowed. "Yes, he's a handful. Excuse me."

She stepped out of the small family's way, and stood for a moment, watching, as they went up the steps to the second floor of the hospital. Realising her hands were shaking, she set Nolan down and gave both a hard squeeze into fists.

Of all the people to run into, she'd just had to bump into Rima Harewood, widow of the man her own husband had forced to blow up the archive. Of all the people on the planet, Rima was the one woman who would understand the confusion and grief Anthea herself had experienced a year ago.

Rima was also the last person she could ever speak to about it, because if not for Anthea's husband, Thomas Harewood would still be alive.

Of course, Anthea had no way of knowing that Khan had saved the life of the little girl she'd just met. Neither did Rima know that that miracle had come at the cost of her husband's life.

Once again picking up Nolan's carrier, she hurried out to her hovercar and headed back to the city.

* * *

Vice Admiral Brody, in addition to approving Anthea's transfer, had assigned her the _Reliance_ and told her to move it to one of the shipyards in California, so that it could be ready if Starfleet Intelligence needed it. Anthea had nearly burst into hysterical laughter on reading the orders, for it had solved one of her largest logistical problems, and Brody had no idea.

She turned her brownstone over to her parents, since it was owned free and clear and she had no need for funds from it. She'd found a small apartment near HQ, a little studio, really, just big enough for her and her baby.

Anthea was relieved that the _Enterprise_ had left, with James Kirk aboard. Her mistake aside, she didn't want Starfleet's golden boy to know what she was doing until it was far too late. The man seemed to operate on pure luck, and she didn't want to risk him stopping her.

She fit in well with her new position. Since she'd been in charge of the Section 31 projects on a day-to-day basis while her husband worked on his designs, it was fairly easy to transition to managing a small group of engineers and scientists. Out of a feeling of guilt, she'd brought information in Lucille Harewood and set a few of her people to researching its cause, to see if they could find a cure in case it happened again.

One change that had come with her transfer was the expectation that she actually use the rank she'd been given while at the archive. Her primary function in Starfleet was with Intelligence, so she'd always been addressed as "Agent Mackintosh", but she'd also held an officer's rank in case she needed to do field work. Anthea had just never used it, never worn her rank pips on her uniform, and had almost forgotten she was, technically speaking, a lieutenant. Since she was in charge of a group now, she'd been promoted to Lieutenant Commander, and was expected to wear her engineering badge instead of the blank Starfleet one she'd worn around Section 31.

Her staff didn't pay her much attention unless she or they needed something. It was really useful that they didn't, because she needed them occupied elsewhere while she did what she'd come to San Francisco to do.

"Lieutenant Commander?"

Anthea looked up to her open door. She'd found it fostered less suspicion if they were free to come and go and ask questions when needed. "Yes, Doctor Coleman?"

The only member of her staff that had so far tried to win her over-the others didn't care as long as she didn't interfere with their research-was a young, newly-minted doctor by the name of Roxy Coleman. Her speciality was genetics.

"Rogers and I have finished the DNA profile of the subject patient you requested and searched for anomalous readings."

"And?"

Coleman shrugged. She sported cafe-au-lait skin, black hair kept in a cropped pixie cut, and huge green eyes. She was also very earnest and eager to prove herself. "It was a little inconclusive. Given the ages of the samples, they _could_ have degraded somewhat."

"How do the three compare?"

"That's the strange part. Are you sure all three samples are from the same patient?"

"Very. Why?"

"Well . . ." Coleman drew up a chair. "The first sample, from mid-2258, shows a female subject of mixed race-but then, who isn't these days?-with a genetic defect that causes a nerve damaging disease we haven't yet identified. The second, obtained in early 2259, has . . . oddities. The blood sample has clear markers for both the female subject, and an unknown male. But the records you gave me didn't indicate any sort of transfusion."

Anthea frowned. "Tell me about the second DNA profile you found."

Coleman consulted her notes on the PADD she held. "Um. Male, as I said. Mix of Caucasian and Indo-European markers. At first glance, it looks pretty normal, until I noticed that, ah . . . the male's blood cells seemed to have been frozen in the middle of . . . attacking the female's blood cells. Some of them are . . . fused is the only word I can think of for it. In the third sample, that process seems to be complete. Rogers and I found _no_ trace of the genetic defect from the first and second samples. There's no male DNA present in it, but now it shares several alleles in common with the male DNA from the second sample."

Staring, Anthea leaned forward. "Are you telling me that a secondary DNA contribution _fixed_ the defect?"

"And essentially replaced several markers, like parental DNA. The male donor would now register as a sibling to the female."

She thought furiously. Indo-European ancestry in the male donor? Blood that cured-

It hit her like a blow to the head. Somehow, Anthea managed to mask her reaction with confusion. "I don't really see how that's possible, but . . . Wait. I recall hearing something recently, a serum developed by Doctor Leonard McCoy that he used on Captain James Kirk."

Coleman blinked her green eyes. "I haven't heard of anything, Lieutenant Commander."

"Please, call me Anthea. At least while we're in here. Let me see if I can get you some information on it. It might be applicable in future."

"Yes, sir."

She dismissed Dr. Coleman and leaned back in her chair. McCoy had used Khan's blood to heal Kirk after his injury-the exact nature of which she still wasn't sure of, but that wasn't entirely relevant at the moment. She'd asked John to look into helping Lucille Harewood. Had he done it by using his blood to heal her?

Quickly, she accessed the medical files of Kirk, James T. and forwarded them to Coleman, along with a note to see if Kirk's DNA showed the same anomalous DNA blending.

* * *

Coleman got back to her that evening. The blood samples obtained from James Kirk during his convalescence the previous year, and those from his checkup just prior to his recent departure, did indeed show the same unknown donor contribution and subsequent assimilation.

Khan's blood had cured Lucille Harewood, as it had healed James Kirk.

Needing to know, she used an extractor on her sleeping baby, now nearly seven months old, to obtain a blood sample. She personally delivered it to Coleman the next morning.

"I need you to keep this one out of the official testing," she said quietly. "I just need to know how this sample compares to the male DNA obtained from Patient 1 and James Kirk."

"Yes, Lieut- Anthea."

"Don't let anyone know where you got the sample, please. And don't ask where I got it, either."

Coleman nodded and went out to her work station. Anthea tried to keep her anxiety at bay, and tried to focus on her own work.

Eventually, the young doctor came back. She spoke quietly when she did.

"The latest sample has thirteen alleles in common with the unknown male donor," she informed Anthea. "It's a direct parental link."

Anthea didn't respond, just stared at the surface of her desk.

"Do you know what this means?" Coleman asked her in an excited whisper. "If we could find this donor, we might be able to cure _everything_. Barring that, if we were able to replicate enough DNA from this latest-"

"No," she snapped. "Not going to happen. Forget I gave you this assignment, Coleman."

"But, Lieutenant Commander-"

"I said no, Doctor Coleman."

"You know something!" the young woman said. She planted her hands on the desk. "Who is this unknown male? Who is his son you just had me test?"

They stared each other down, and then, slowly, Coleman's face went pale. "You have a son," she whispered. "It's him, isn't it? That's why you don't want anyone to know."

Anthea's only response was a terse, "Get out."


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**\--Chapter Twenty-One--**  
  
She'd managed to swear Coleman to silence, but it was only a matter of time before others realised Nolan might have abilities they could exploit. That drove her to feverishly pour through Starfleet's archival records, hunting for any sign of seventy-three cryotubes and where they were stored.  
  
Spring turned to summer. So far, Coleman had kept her word that she wouldn't tell anyone, and she and Rogers had declared their project a "dead end". Not being sure if they'd keep her secret made Anthea long for the days when she could count on those around her to hold their silence.  
  
She seemed to be making one mistake after another. But she'd had to _know_ if her husband had healed that little girl.  
  
Her birthday was close to midsummer. Her staff threw her a party, which she actually enjoyed a little.  
  
Then Coleman came up and said, "I tested the last sample. It does the same thing the parent contribution does. Watch out for him."  
  
Panic spurred Anthea into a frenzy. She spent most of her work time quietly diverting requisitions and erasing them from record. And always, always, hunting for the cryotubes from the _SS Botany Bay_.  
  


* * *

  
  
Lindy came for a visit in July and announced she was pregnant. For the first time, Anthea found herself really happy for her best friend. The thought of never seeing her again hurt, but knowing Lindy had a good, solid life without her helped. She didn't need to worry about her friend. She had a husband to take care of her, one who could be there for her during the coming months.  
  
As Anthea searched, she stockpiled. As many cargo containers as would fit in the _Reliance_ 's hold, and as many supplies as she figured would be necessary. Leaving Earth was a scary thought, but not a difficult choice to make.  
  
The hardest part would be leaving her parents. Her mother came by weekly, on Anthea's days off, to shower daughter and grandson with affection and presents.  
  
It was during one such visit when her little boy said his first real word. He'd made cooing sounds for months, but in August, at the age of ten months, he very clearly said, "Mama, no!" when Anthea tried to dress him to go out to the boardwalk with her mother.  
  
"Has he been talking long?" Martha asked, looking overjoyed.  
  
"No, actually, this is the first time, as far as I'm aware."  
  
"And he's speaking in sentences already!"  
  
Wryly, Anthea said, "I don't think two words that just happen to work together constitute a sentence, Mum."  
  
"I suppose you're right."  
  
She finally got Nolan into his shorts and shirt, and they went for their outing.  
  
"How's Daddy?" Anthea asked her mother, over hot dogs and ice cream at the Pier.  
  
"He's good, though his leg bothers him. And you know he hates air travel. It would be so nice if you could come visit him."  
  
"I'll try to make time to. I'm just so busy with work."  
  
Martha studied her only child. "Are you happy here, Anthea?"  
  
"As I can be," was her reply. "I don't know if I'll ever be truly _happy_ without John."  
  
"I don't want you to be alone forever," her mother said gently. "I know I could have been kinder about saying it before, but I don't want you to be lonely."  
  
Anthea shrugged. "I tried dating." Sort of. "He was a really nice guy. Cute, too. But that spark was missing."  
  
"You'll find the right one someday."  
  
She wasn't religious, but Anthea fervently prayed she would.  
  


* * *

  
  
She found them in September, ironically on her second wedding anniversary.  
  
They had been stored in a bunker out near the spaceport where Starfleet kept its shuttles. Ostensibly, the warehouse was for holding mothballed ships of an early age for archival purposes. But it held other things, too. A lot of them could be considered valuable, in the right hands.  
  
Anthea only cared about what was in the cement bunker labelled 138-2A.  
  
It took her a bit to find a cargo hovervan that would work for her purposes. When she showed up to work with it, she was teased until she explained that having a baby meant having a lot of baggage.  
  
None moreso than her son.  
  
It was darkly humorous to Anthea that she found herself doing the very thing Khan had done with his people nearly two years before.  
  
Two long years of silence, of grief and uncertainty.  
  
Well, that was about to end, as soon as she could manage.  
  
Anthea was getting really good at altering records now. It was such a little thing to go in and change the associated bunker number. Starfleet was ridiculously arrogant in assuming that nothing could possibly happen. And she'd become so _good_ at lying.  
  
Ironic, really, that the bunker was only a few hundred metres away from her ship . . .  
  
At the spaceport, she quickly keyed in the access code with shaking fingers. The door opened on a nearly-silent hiss of air. Anthea ducked inside. She stood for several moments blinking in the darkness, then snapped on the handheld light as the door shut behind her. Aside from her flashlight, the only illumination was from seventy-three cryotube control panels, giving the room a very dim, very eerie blue glow.  
  
Anthea decided to start with the central column and then the sides. She wanted to find her husband first. At the very least, she needed to get him out and away.  
  
"'Til death do us part," she muttered. "What was I getting myself into?"  
  
His was the very last in the centre column, at the very back. He was still as death, eyes closed, the viewing pane of the cryotube frosted with little crystals. The shock of seeing him, alive but comatose, stole all the air from her lungs.  
  
"Oh, my darling," Anthea breathed. "How did we come to this?"  
  
She took a precious moment to lay her hand over the frosted window separating her from him, feeling tears prick her eyes. She wanted to give in to the relief and cry, but she couldn't afford to, not now.  
  
The cryotubes all had a form of hover tech built in that kept them off the ground. She wasn't sure why, but it was there. Anthea was grateful for it. She flipped the blanket she'd brought over the tube containing her husband and hauled it out of line and down the aisle to the door.  
  
It took her a little over half an hour to get all of the cryotubes moved to the next bunker over, one which had a second door leading in and out on the opposite wall. She had to stop once for a security guard's nightly patrol, waiting in terrified silence, hoping she wouldn't get caught.  
  
In the end, she wasn't. Anthea got Khan's cryotube out the back door and loaded into her ugly hovervan. She drove directly to where the _Reliance_ waited. No one had taken it out since she'd flown it from England. She'd removed it completely from record, which hadn't been much of one in the first place. It was now, according to anything one could look up, a privately-owned ship, acquired in India by one Skye Singh.  
  
Anthea loaded Khan's cryotube into the medbay. She hated leaving him there, but she had little choice. Soon, she would have everything done.  
  


* * *

  
  
It took her precisely thirty-six days to get all of the cryotubes smuggled out, two at a time, in her van. Since they'd been put in long-term storage, no one checked on them. It was ridiculously easy, in retrospect.  
  
Getting them aboard the _Reliance_ and hidden away in the cargo containers was a little more difficult. Fortunately, she had a medical robot aboard that did the heavy lifting.  
  
Her months of meticulous planning and thievery ended when she closed the last cargo container, with the last of the cryotubes, and surveyed her work.  
  
As Anthea prepared the ship for departure, she instructed the computer to record a message, to be delivered on a time-delay.  
  
"Mum, Daddy . . . By the time you receive this, I should be long gone from Federation space. I'm sorry I couldn't say good-bye in person, but it was too hard, and I need to do this. I can't risk being talked out of this. I love you, but I love him, too, and . . . I've made my choice. I'm also committing treason in doing this, so I don't expect to come back. I'll try, in a while, to send you a message to let you know I'm okay, but if I don't, it isn't because I don't love you.  
  
"Please don't try to find me. And if you love me, don't alert Starfleet. They'll know soon enough. I'm doing this for my safety, and for that of my son. I know this must seem insane, but I've spent a long time thinking about this, and it's what I need to do.  
  
"Stay safe, be strong. I love you."  
  
She hadn't piloted a ship in a while, not through space, not since her honeymoon with John. He'd made her fly the ship back from Betazed. So she was a little rusty and slow, but she managed to not blow everyone up making the jump to warp.  
  
With the ship on autopilot, she went to the medbay. There, she initiated the sequence to defrost Khan. With the tube open, she gently stroked his ice-cold cheek, the first physical contact she'd had with him in far, far too long.  
  
Her anger at his leaving her evaporated. How could he have come back to her, when he was trapped in this death-like state? Chances were he'd been like this since just after his capture in San Francisco. When he'd run from Spock, had he been trying to get to her?  
  
She and the medical robot that served as the small ship's doctor got the prone man out of the tube. She had the robot move him to one of the medbay's two beds, where she attached a small medical sensor to his chest.  
  
Then she watched, and she waited.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**\--Chapter Twenty-Two--**  
  
It was a bit disconcerting that he wasn't really _breathing_ when she got him out. But in the open air, as he warmed up, he began to breathe. His respiration and heartbeat increased, gradually, to normal levels. His skin went from a cold blue-white to pale pink.  
  
Anthea wiped sweaty palms on her trousers, hoping she'd revived him correctly. She didn't know how long it would take, or how quickly he would recover from his stasis. Or _if_ he would. No, she couldn't think like that. He would wake. He had to.  
  
The fluttering of his eyelids drew her attention. He opened his eyes slowly, then blinked once before focusing on her face. It took him three tries before he managed to get any sound out. "Anthea," he rasped. His voice was hushed and weak, unused for so long.  
  
"Hello, _darling_."  
  
Alright, so she wasn't so upset about him disappearing for so long. The lies and everything else, however, that she was still angry about.  
  
He lay motionless for a minute or two, then flexed his muscles, to get the circulation going. He took a deep breath, ignoring her obvious tension.  
  
Then Khan sat up, in one smooth motion, and surveyed the room. "Where are we?" He still sounded hoarse, but his rapid revival really didn't surprise her.  
  
"I appropriated the _Reliance_ from Section 31. I'm sure you remember it, it's the ship we took to Betazed. It was transferred to San Francisco after you had Harewood blow up the complex in London. " Anthea folded her arms across her chest. "Nice of you to wait 'til I was in Edinburgh, _Khan_."  
  
That icy gaze swivelled to focus on her. There was no emotion in it, and she wondered if she hadn't just made her most monumental mistake in reviving him. With the way he moved, the modulation of his voice and the way he looked at her, she realised that she was seeing the real man, the one who had hidden behind John Harrison. And while she'd had some idea how to interact with John, she was out of her depth with Khan.  
  
"You freed me."  
  
She frowned. "Technically, I stole you. Heaven knows why. How could you do those horrible things? How could you lie to me, and use me like that?"  
  
"Since you know my name, you know who I am. I did what I had to."  
  
Without thinking, she lashed out to slap him. She didn't even see him move, but Khan's fingers closed around her wrist and held her hand an inch from his face. His grip was hard as steel, but not tight enough to hurt.  
  
Moving just as swiftly, he rose from the bed in the small medbay and shoved her against the closest wall. Her breath caught, both from fear and from his proximity.  
  
"Would you have preferred me to use you as a knowing participant in the destruction of Starfleet?" he inquired. There was no anger in his voice, just a hint of curiosity.  
  
His calm struck her as odd, given that she'd just tried to slap him.  
  
". . . No," she whispered. Anthea licked suddenly dry lips. "But why didn't you tell me who you really are?"  
  
"It was safest for you to remain ignorant." Khan released her wrist, but didn't step back.  
  
"Safest?" she repeated. "They came to my parents' house and ripped it apart, hunting for you!"  
  
"I didn't want you drawn in unnecessarily. I had a timetable to keep to, and our . . . entanglement complicated matters."  
  
She scoffed. "Entanglement. That's what you call it? I _loved_ you-"  
  
His mouth closed over hers, cutting her off mid-sentence. Despite his cold demeanour, there was fire in it, and Anthea melted against him. She looped her arms around his neck, pressing as close as she could manage. Belying her words to Kirk, she still loved him desperately, and part of her didn't care about the things he'd done. She'd craved his touch for _so long_!  
  
Khan drew back first. Anthea clung to him, still weak in the knees. "Whatever else I may have said to maintain my cover, Anthea, my feelings for you have never been a lie. I love you, and I kept our marriage secret so that no one could come after you if I failed. And I did fail, in all but destroying Marcus."  
  
She released a shuddery sigh. "I want to hate you," she confessed. "All those people . . . But I can't. Does that make me bad?"  
  
One corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile, the first real show of emotion, besides that fiery kiss, since he'd woken. "Are you referring to my attempts to assassinate Admiral Marcus, or that . . . unfortunate landing in San Francisco?"  
  
She thought about it for a long moment. "San Francisco, mostly?"  
  
"I was not aiming for the city itself. The guidance system was down. I wanted Starfleet headquarters. With my-" He stopped, realised she likely didn't know the full story. "There are others- _were_ others like me. My people. Spock killed them. I'm afraid I went a little mad."  
  
Anthea bit her lip. "Actually . . ."  
  
She slipped past him, took his hand. "Come with me."  
  
They made their way through the fairly small ship to the cargo bay. There, she'd managed to fit twelve cargo containers, packed as tight as she could, in the hold. Anthea went to the nearest, and keyed in a code to unlock it. The door hissed open.  
  
Inside, behind boxes of food and medical supplies, were six cryotubes. She had crammed all the free spaces of every one of the huge boxes with whatever supplies she could get her hands on. She hoped it would be enough for so many people.  
  
Khan stared, eyes widening in surprise. She wondered if this was a first for him, to be utterly and completely floored.  
  
"Spock didn't kill them. They removed them from the torpedoes, and Starfleet hid them in a vault near headquarters, along with you. It took me ages to find where they'd stored you, and I used my clearance to sneak you and your people out. I've committed treason and can't go back, but . . . there was nothing for me without you."  
  
There. She'd admitted it. She was in love with a madman, and didn't care.  
  
He turned to her, eyes filled with tears and joy, the detachment gone. "You _saved_ us, even after all I did. Why?"  
  
"I love you," she whispered. "John, or Khan, or whoever you are."  
  
"We must get them out . . ." He kissed her forehead. "Thank you, Thea."  
  
"We have to wait 'til we reach our destination," she told him. "There isn't room for them to be out and about."  
  
"Our destination?"  
  
"I researched and found an uninhabited Class M planet, designated CX-431 Alpha. It isn't in Federation space. We're going there, to make a new life. One of the crew cabins is filled with boxes of clothing, fabric and notions, and a sewing machine. Another has boxes of two-person shelters, some rather primitive building supplies such as nails and hammers, and a few plasma saws and the like. If you can design starships, surely you can manage cabins.  
  
"And, of course, there are phasers. I don't know what indigenous wildlife there is on the planet, and what dangers we'll face, but I wanted to be prepared as possible. Abandoning Earth isn't something I'm doing lightly. I know what you did to be banished. I- Please don't go back to that. Please. Admiral Marcus is dead, you've had your revenge."  
  
He stared at her in silence. Finally, he managed, "Who told you these things? James Kirk?"  
  
"Some." She nodded, her mind skittering away from a flash of memory of the other things she'd done with Kirk. "You left me almost two years ago. I've had time to study, and learn."  
  
He closed his eyes. "Two years. I am sorry, Anthea. What you must have thought of me."  
  
"I was angry. Part of me still is. Make it up to me. We can settle on this planet, be free of the Federation, of Starfleet."  
  
Khan was silent for a long time, eyes still closed. His hands rested on her upper arms, and she had no idea what he was thinking.  
  
A cry pierced the silence, and Khan jerked, eyes popping open.  
  
"What was that?" he demanded.  
  
"I need to- One moment."  
  
She extricated herself and hurried back down the central corridor, to her small cabin. Anthea had left the door wedged open, so that she could hear her son if he needed her.  
  
She scooped Nolan up, out of his little bed, and bounced him a bit to soothe his tears. "Shh. Shh. Mummy's here."  
  
"Mama!" the little boy wailed.  
  
"Hush, my darling."  
  
The footfall by the door told her that her husband had followed. She slowly turned, Nolan held close to her shoulder.  
  
"You have a child," Khan stated.  
  
Anthea ran her fingers distractedly over Nolan's dark hair. "We," she corrected.  
  
He closed the space between them, reached out a surprisingly hesitant hand, but didn't touch the baby. "My child?"  
  
"I was . . . three weeks pregnant when you left," she said. "I didn't know, or I would have told you. This is our son, Nolan."  
  
That she had risked everything to save him and his crew, had raised their child by herself, astonished him. "My son."  
  
"You said your crew is your family. _This_ is your family, too. Please . . . Khan. Haven't we seen enough destruction?"  
  
He stared at the baby, the spitting image of himself, and slowly, Khan smiled. "A planet of our own, to colonise? That, my beloved Thea, sounds perfect."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**\--Chapter Twenty-Three--**  
  
Anthea got Nolan fed, changed, and back to sleep. Khan watched in silence the whole time. She'd given him some food from the replicator, figuring he'd need it after nearly two years without eating.  
  
"How old is he?" he asked, once he'd finished his own meal.  
  
"He's just a little over a year old," she said. "It's 2260, by the way. Exact stardate, um . . . 2260.311. So he's almost thirteen months old."  
  
Her husband rose from where he sat on the bed--the very same bed they'd shared on the Betazed trip--and approached her.  
  
"Anthea," he said, in that low purr. "I truly am sorry I have missed so much."  
  
He cupped her elbow, then his hand slid up her arm to her neck. When he leaned in, she caught her breath.  
  
"You left me," she said. "Don't think I'm going to forgive you that easily. I may have saved you, but I'm still angry."  
  
"And you have every right to be," he assured her. "Let me start making it up to you with this."  
  
He lowered his mouth to hers. Anthea wanted to resist, but she never had been able to with him, never would. She slid her hands under his Starfleet shirt, the one he'd been frozen in, and ran her hands over his muscled chest.  
  
"What do you want me to call you?" she asked, as his mouth left hers.  
  
"Khan," he said. "It is my name. Though if you call me John by mistake, I won't be angry."  
  
"Gee, thanks," she breathed.  
  
He smirked and caught his hands around her waist, pulling her against him. "Two years," he murmured. "Tell me there's been no one in that time."  
  
She hadn't planned to tell him. She'd intended to take that secret to the grave. But she just couldn't lie to him.  
  
"One," Anthea whispered. "But I had my reasons."  
  
His hands tightened almost painfully, then he forced himself to loosen his grip. "Who was it?"  
  
She licked her lips, tasting him there, and decided that a slight slant on the truth wasn't exactly a lie. "I seduced Jim Kirk to get information on what had happened to you."  
  
He stared at her, face unreadable. The longer he stared, the more uncomfortable she got.  
  
At last, Khan's mouth twitched, and then he grimaced. He shook, and when he pressed his forehead to hers, she realised he was _laughing_.  
  
"You- You really are perfect for me, Anthea. You found that young man's weakness and exploited it."  
  
"It was ridiculously easy, too," she mused. "Stop laughing. It made me feel dirty."  
  
"Ah, my Anthea. I do adore you."  
  
"You're not angry?"  
  
His fingers lifted to tangle in her hair. "Angry? No. I am impressed at your resourcefulness. However . . . I believe I need to reclaim what is mine."

* * *

  
  
He was different, now that he wasn't hiding behind John Harrison, but Anthea couldn't claim it was a bad thing. He'd always been direct when it came to intimacy, and that hadn't changed. The forcefulness and intensity, however, had.  
  
Khan yanked the black, long-sleeved shirt off over his head and dropped it on the floor. Anthea tried not to drool on his shoes. He grinned at the look on her face and maneuvered her against the wall by the bed, pinning her there with his solid body.  
  
Anthea gasped. She'd nearly forgotten what it was like with him, but he very swiftly reminded her when he yanked down the fly on her trousers and shoved his hand in to find her. His fingertips delved unerringly into her curls, sliding hard over her clit.  
  
"Oh," she whimpered.  
  
"No one else touches you," he growled. "You are _mine_."  
  
"Always," she moaned. "Oh, please!"  
  
He dipped his head, teeth scraping the side of her neck as he stroked her, nearly brutal in his touch. She rocked her hips against his hand, breathing heavy. All too soon, he pulled away.  
  
It was obvious he had no inclination to be gentle this time. Not that he was rough, exactly, but Khan wanted something very specific, and he was going to take it. Anthea was more than willing to give it to him.  
  
He stripped her of every stitch and tossed her down on the bed. Anthea watched him remove his trousers. Khan stood at the side of the bed, looking down at her, his erection hard and proud, jutting from the dark hair between his thighs. She reached for him and he shuddered when she closed her slender fingers around him.  
  
He put a knee on the bed, bracing himself as she stroked her hand firmly down his length. Anthea scooted closer and bent her head, flicking her tongue over the glans.  
  
Khan threaded his fingers through her hair, tightening his grip in the dark strands. He left enough slack for her to move her head, sliding her tongue over him. It took all of his restraint not to thrust into her mouth.  
  
She twisted her grip as she jerked him, earning a low growl and a twitch of his hips. Anthea closed her lips around him, bobbing her head, teasing him with a light drag of her teeth over his velvety skin.  
  
He felt his lower body tighten, signalling he was close, and he pulled away abruptly. Khan had been intending to dominate her, take his pleasure and leave her wanting in punishment for what she'd done with Kirk, but she looked so appealing, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hair tousled and lips wet with saliva from sucking him, that he couldn't resist kneeling on the floor between her legs.  
  
He gripped her thighs and pulled her hips to the very edge of the bed. He wasn't gentle when he parted her and buried his mouth in her glistening folds. Anthea shrieked when he drew her clitoris between his lips, sucking hard, but it wasn't out of pain. She dug the fingers of both hands into his hair.  
  
"Khan," she gasped.  
  
It pleased him to hear his real name spilling from her mouth that way. He hummed in approval and she cried out at the vibration. Anthea let go of his hair with one hand, bracing herself on the bed with it.  
  
"Unnh, please," she breathed.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
He gave her one last lick and pulled back, rising from his crouched position. Eagerly, his wife wiggled backwards on the bed and motioned for him to come to her. He crawled onto the bed, kneeling over her.  
  
Khan poised at her opening, his erection twitching with each beat of his heart, enjoying her displayed before him.  
  
"Beg me," he demanded. " _Beg_ me."  
  
Anthea held her arms out to him. "Please," she said. "Please. I need you. I need you inside me. Please."  
  
He entered her with a force that shook her. She grunted, a small portion of the sound pained. He slowed, just a little, realising that he'd hurt her. He hadn't meant to do that.  
  
Still, he took her swiftly, possessively. When she turned her head, he gripped her chin, made her look at him.  
  
" _Mine_ ," he hissed. "You are _mine_."  
  
"Yours," she agreed breathlessly. "I always- Uh! I- always have been."  
  
This time, when he felt his orgasm approaching, he gave himself over to it, spilling himself hot within her. Shuddering with his release, Khan fell to lay beside her.  
  
Anthea frowned in disappointment. "Really? Two years apart, and you-"  
  
He tugged her against him, her back to his chest, and dipped his hand between her thighs. He brought her to climax with furious strokes of his fingers. Anthea grabbed one of the pillows and bit it, screaming into it as she shook.  
  
He left her lying facedown on the bed and went to clean up. When he returned from the small bathroom attached to the cabin, he tossed her a warm, damp cloth.  
  
Anthea rolled to her back, feeling sore and abused and so happy she might burst. It hadn't been the reunion sex she'd been imagining, but it made her feel better about what had happened with Kirk.  
  
"Is there something wrong with me, that I enjoyed that?"  
  
Her husband smirked. "Not at all. You're simply more open about liking things not as polished and refined. Admit it, my dear, you _like_ being submissive to me."  
  
She thought about it for a moment, head tilted. "Only you, though. Anyone else tries and I'll hit them."  
  
"Anyone else tries and I'll _kill_ them," he told her.

 

* * *

  
      
When Anthea returned from the miniscule bathroom, she said, "You know, you really _are_ better at everything. Compared to that, Kirk was lousy."  
  
He snorted and patted the space beside him. She curled up there, sighing when he drew her, gently this time, into the circle of his arms. Anthea rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.  
  
"I missed this so much," she told him softly. "I missed _you_ so much it hurt."  
  
"I tried to get back to you," he whispered against her hair. "When I realised that I had survived the crash, I tried to get away, to find you. I wanted to take you away. But that damned Vulcan caught me."  
  
"Well, you _did_ try to kill his captain. Lesson learned. Don't piss off a Vulcan."  
  
Khan kissed the top of her head. "How did you revive me?"  
  
Anthea shrugged a shoulder. "I still have my security clearances. Or had. I would imagine I'm a fugitive now and they've all been revoked. But I read Doctor McCoy's reports on you. He included the codes you gave him. I would have revived you sooner, but I . . . wanted to wait 'til we were safely away. It took me _months_ to get all the supplies together, and it took weeks to smuggle all of you out. The medical robot and I did it."  
  
"How _did_ you manage?"  
  
She sat up and dragged her fingers through her tangled hair. "Falsified data, for the most part. Altered records to change which bunker you were stored in. I took an administrative position at headquarters and bided my time. Every few days, I'd go in with a cargo container, load up a couple of your people, and bring them here. I got you out first, of course, just in case."  
  
Khan looked amused. "All of that while maintaining cover _and_ raising a child? I _am_ impressed. No wonder Section 31 recruited you so young."  
  
"I learned from the best." She swung her legs over his lap. "Tell me what happened, from the day you left Starfleet."  
  
He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. "If you've read the reports, you know I planned to smuggle my people out in the torpedoes. Marcus, largely through that idiot blonde daughter of his and her meddling, discovered what I was doing. And he threatened you. Oh, he didn't know the truth of us, but he suspected our involvement and he said he'd- Well, it does not matter now. I escaped, and came to make sure you were safe."  
  
"I remember you saying you were on a leave."  
  
He snorted. "I had not expected everything to fall apart so quickly. I assumed that Marcus had killed my crew, but while I was with you, I knew he could not harm you. But I had to work swiftly, for my revenge and to ensure your safety."  
  
Anthea shook her head. "So you had Harewood blow up the archive, and killed forty-two people. Not to mention all those who died on the Enterprise-"  
  
"A large number of which are Marcus's fault," he interjected.  
  
"-And let's not even get started on the death toll from you *crashing the Vengeance into San Francisco*."  
  
"Are you going to bring that up for the rest of our lives?"  
  
"Probably. It's the ultimate guilt trip material." She tipped her head to study him. "Be honest with me from now on. There's no need to keep anything from me."  
  
"Not now, there is not." He lightly rubbed her knee. "I am sorry that I put you in danger. That I put our son in danger."  
  
Anthea caught his hand. "I may not agree with your methods, and I certainly am not happy that my husband is responsible for the deaths of thousands. That makes me a little sick to think about. But I understand _why_. I just wish you'd felt you could talk to me about it. I could have helped."  
  
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Perhaps. I left you as much in the dark as I could in case they . . . Let us be honest, Anthea, Marcus would not have hesitated to torture you to extract information concerning my whereabouts if I had not done many of the things I did. And I averted a war with the Klingons."  
  
"Kirk says you tried to kill him."  
  
"He angered me, and the boy was only going to continue hunting me. I did not mean to kill his friend. It was Marcus I was after."  
  
"I know it was. I know."  
  
In his little bed, Nolan began to fuss. Anthea went to him, plucking the baby up to cradle him against her side.  
  
Khan watched, pride warming him. His wife, his son. How happy that made him! "You named him Nolan? What does that mean?"  
  
"It's Irish. I saw it and liked the way it sounded. Not sure on the meaning," she said. She brought the baby back to their bed. "When he was born, I thought you were dead. I hadn't spoken to Kirk or his crew, hadn't realised that they'd spared you along with the others. So I named him to . . . keep alive what we had before I lost you. His full name is Nolan John Harrison."  
  
"But you knew my real name."  
  
"I'd learned it by that point, yes. I also didn't want to . . . raise a bunch of questions. I mean, why would I, out of the blue, give him a name no one had heard of?"  
  
"You do have a point."  
  
He reached over and placed one broad hand on Nolan's back, the first time he'd touched his son. "He is like me, isn't he?"  
  
"Yes." She cleared her throat. "I was terrified that they would take him from me, if they found out who and what he is. I didn't know you'd healed Lucille Harewood. And when I learned that Nolan has the same ability . . ."  
  
"How _did_ you discover it?"  
  
She told him about her work at the Daystrom Institute, the research she'd hidden behind while searching for him. When she reached the part about testing their child, Khan lifted Nolan out of her arms and set the boy on his knees. He didn't seem to notice the only clothed one was the baby.  
  
Father and son stared at each other. Nolan seemed to be trying to figure out who Khan was, his small face scrunched in concentration. "Hi!" he said, after a moment.  
  
Khan looked to his wife. "Thirteen months old, and talking?"  
  
"He's _your_ son," she reminded him. "He's got a vocabulary about three, maybe four times the size of a normal baby his age. And he's strong. And fast. Honestly, I was terrified I would never find you, and I'd have a super-powered toddler to deal with by myself."  
  
Nolan shoved a chubby fist into his mouth and gnawed on it for a moment, still fascinated by his father.  
  
"Nolan," Anthea said. "Can you say 'Daddy'?"  
  
The child looked at her, grinned, and burbled, "Dada!"  
  
Khan's pale blue eyes filled with tears, so moved was he by this. "My son," he whispered. "Anthea, he is the greatest gift you could have ever given me."  
  
She lovingly pet her child's hair. Nolan squirmed in Khan's arms until he'd worked himself to lean against his father's chest. The sight swelled her heart. "I found out I was carrying him the same day I spoke to you last. And even through everyone telling me how horrible you were, all the lives you'd taken, I never even questioned keeping him. It just didn't occur to me. When we discussed children, I was frightened by the idea, but when it _happened_ . . . He was my last tie to you, and he's so special. He was the only thing that kept me going through those months when I didn't know where you were or what had happened or why."  
  
"We'll never be apart again," Khan told her. "I was arrogant before and assumed I could do it all myself. I should have been more patient, and trusted you more."  
  
"Yes, you should have." She searched his face. "Did you use me, in the beginning? You say you love me . . ."  
  
"I do love you, Anthea. I had an affection for you, before we became involved. And . . . it wasn't truly love until after we married. But I do love you." He smiled wryly. "I have a difficult time admitting fault. It is an unusual situation for me. I am so used to relying on myself that it didn't really occur to me to rely on you, the way I should have."  
  
Nolan obviously found the deep rumble of Khan's voice soothing. With a thumb in his mouth, the baby was trying valiantly to keep his little eyes open. As Anthea watched, he nodded off.  
  
"You want me to take him?" she asked in a whisper.  
  
Khan looked down at his son, cradled in his arms. "No," he said. "I think I'll keep him for a while. I have missed too much already."  
  
She yawned, utterly worn out from the day's events. A glance at the clock on her tiny desk across from the bed told her she'd been up nearly twenty-four hours. "Alright. If you need anything, wake me."  
  
Anthea crawled under the covers. In moments, she was out.  
  
Khan watched her sleep, and swore to himself that from now on, he wouldn't miss a moment of his family's lives.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**\--Chapter Twenty-Four--**  
  
 _CX-431 Alpha_  
 _Beta Quadrant_  
  
When they dropped out of warp near their destination, Khan became all business. He settled into the pilot's chair with ease, using the computer to scan for life on the planet below.  
  
"Scanners detect rather a lot of life on the surface," he told Anthea when she joined him. "None of it is registering as human."  
  
"There was a civilization there," she commented, "ages back, but they died out due to unknown circumstances. I have a few areas from the first survey in mind for a settlement, but we'll need to check them out in person before making any decisions."  
  
Khan glanced over at her. He'd left his dark hair loose, some of the strands falling in his face. "It might be a good idea to see if any of the indigenous life is dangerous to us."  
  
"Exactly." Anthea pulled up the survey reports from Starfleet. "The planet doesn't have much in the way of seizmic activity in most areas. There are a few volcanic areas, mostly confined to near the equator. Of course, we never can tell what's going to suddenly pop up, but the initial survey seems to indicate stability."  
  
"That is what the sensors are telling me now," he replied. "We'll need a fairly sizable, flat area, with trees for building supplies, and access to plenty of water. The supplies you acquired won't last us forever."  
  
"I hope the local wildlife is edible. I've brought seeds with us so we can grow crops, such as lettuce, carrots, squash, that kind of thing. I don't know what plantlife will be edible, either."  
  
He turned to look at her. "Is there anything you didn't think of?"  
  
She studied her screen. "I forgot birth control. Other than that, I'm not sure. Oh, I have all your equipment from your home lab. We'll need to set up generators, I have those, too, three of them, but I brought the stuff, just in case. And if we really get desperate, there's an inhabited planet two systems over that trades with the Federation and several non-Federation planets."  
  
Khan smiled a little and went back to his sensor readings. "No wonder Starfleet kept you. No offense to Otto, but you will be my second-in-command from now on."  
  
"I'm your wife. I'd better be _equal_."  
  
The smile turned into a smirk. "Yes, dear."  
  
She leaned over and gave him a light smack on the back of the head. He only laughed.  
  


* * *

  
  
They landed near the first potential settlement site, and Anthea locked Nolan in the ship with a communicator link open like a baby monitor, and the medical robot to watch over him. It wasn't ideal, but she also wasn't dragging him along when she and Khan surveyed the area, and she wasn't going to let her husband go off by himself.  
  
It was early summer on this part of the planet, as were the other two sites they wanted to check out. They would have plenty of time to build shelters for the coming winter.  
  
This was the farthest north site, with a present climate approximately that of England. Khan was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, trousers, and boots, armed with his phaser and a long machete he'd dug out of one of the cargo boxes. Anthea had the sensor equipment and her own phaser. If they had to fight anything off, she was going to leave it to her very capable husband to take care of.  
  
"I'm not sure about this area," he told her. "It has plenty of lumber, which is good, but we'd have to clear a lot of area, and the water is a bit far."  
  
"It's also downhill," she said. "And the ground near the water seems unstable. Undermining the root system could cause a landslide into the river."  
  
He nodded. "We'll come back to this if necessary, but it is not my first choice."  
  


* * *

  
  
At the second site, Anthea liked the area a little more. The trees were bigger, farther apart, and the ground was nicely level with a wide stream flowing through the middle.  
  
"I'm going to scout by the hills over there," Khan told her. "Wait here."  
  
"Sure."  
  
He went off through the trees and low brush, while Anthea set to gathering and labelling plant samples, for testing and study. She wanted to know starting out which were edible and which were dangerous.  
  
She'd been at it about twenty minutes when Khan came running full-tilt through the trees, machete out but down at his side. He had a scratch along one cheek, and the blade was covered with gore.  
  
"Run," he said, grabbing her arm, and she did.  
  
Back on the ship, he slammed the door shut and leaned against the wall.  
  
"What was out there?" Anthea demanded.  
  
"No idea what it was, but it was big, and it had claws bigger than my hands." He held them up to demostrate. They were speckled with blood. "Not my own blood, don't worry. I hope I killed it, but judging from the sounds from the cave I was scouting, there are more of them."  
  
". . . Okay, we'll scratch this one off the list."  
  


* * *

  
  
The third site had a nice, big clearing, near a sparkling blue-green lake, all of it hidden amongst towering trees. There were low, rolling hills through the forest, but nothing big enough to support caves or giant, furry monsters. The lake was fed by a river that flowed from mountains a good fifty kilometres away.   
  
"I like this one," Anthea told her husband. "We've got a good view through the trees, access to water, and the sensors are telling me the chemical composition of the ground is similar to Earth, so we should be able to plant our crops with little problem."  
  
He looked up at the big, fluffy clouds in the brilliantly blue sky. "Oxygen level is slightly higher than Earth, but that will be fine. You're not having any issues, and I'm sure Nolan will adapt just fine."  
  
"What about your people?"  
  
Khan stooped to take a water sample from the lake. "We do not require oxygen the same way you do."  
  
Anthea blinked. "Oh, really?"  
  
"We are affected by nerve gas, but we can survive for longer than normal humans without oxygen, because we do not waste half of it on every breath."  
  
"That's interesting. I'm really glad Nolan isn't fussy, because if he were, and could wail for longer without taking a breath . . ."  
  
Khan snorted. "Yes, that would be irritating."  
  
He loaded the water sample into the testing unit he'd brought from the ship. "The water is clean, as far as I can tell. No known contaminants from any Starfleet database. It should be safe to drink."  
  
"Good." She smiled. "So, we're settling here?"  
  
He gave her a slight nod. "We are settling here."  
  


* * *

  
  
"Now that we have a place to set up, we can begin reviving my crew," Khan told her over dinner.  
  
They'd set up a bonfire outside the ship. The _Reliance_ took up most of the clearing at the moment, the nose jutting out over the lake. They sat under the ship's wing as evening set in.  
  
Anthea had Nolan on her lap and was feeding him small bites of food. His first molars had come in, and he relished chewing his food, even if he made a mess. "We'll need to remove the cargo containers before we can get them out. They're jammed in pretty tight, too. I used every space I could."  
  
"Are they equipped with hover capability?"  
  
"Yeah, but they're still bloody heavy."  
  
"That should not be a problem."  
  
Deciding he was finished with dinner for the present, Nolan squawked and slid off Anthea's lap. She tried to catch him, but he stumbled out of her grasp, towards the fire.  
  
Khan reached out with one hand, caught his son by the back of his little shirt, and lifted him off the ground, all in the blink of an eye. Anthea hadn't seen him move. It was still something of a shock to know he could move _that_ fast.  
  
"No," he told Nolan. "Stay away from the fire."  
  
"I'm not certain he'll understand that," Anthea began.  
  
"Oh, he understands." The man narrowed his eyes at his offspring. "The fire is hot. You know what hot means?"  
  
Nolan was delighted with being suspended in the air, and he flailed arms and legs, a huge grin plastered on his little face. Still, all his attention was for his father.  
  
To Anthea's absolute astonishment, the baby _nodded_. "Fiw hot," Nolan piped. "Hot _huwt_."  
  
Khan passed their son back over to Anthea. "He's much more intelligent than a normal human child," he reminded his wife. "I could understand at his age concepts that a child of two could not."  
  
Still, she was a little shaken at the near-miss, horrified at the thought of her precious child falling into the fire. She kissed the top of Nolan's head.  
  
Returning to the prior subject, Khan said, "I think, tomorrow, we can begin awakening the others."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this 'fic. Sequel is in the works, presently titled "The Life To My Soul".

**\--Chapter Twenty-Five--**  
  
Khan was awake and moving before dawn. By the time Anthea rose, showered, and had Nolan dressed and fed, her husband had unloaded half of the cargo containers from the hold. She watched him unload the rest, without the robot's assistance. _She_ had needed the robot and a forklift to load the containers. Khan did it with the containers' hovertech and his own strength.  
  
"How strong _are_ you?" she asked him. She already knew he could crush a man's skull with his bare hands. Out of morbid curiosity, she'd looked up what that took. Turned out it didn't take more than fifteen pounds per square inch to fracture bone, but to do it bare-handed was beyond the normal human. "I mean, how much can you lift?"  
  
The effort had made him break out in a sweat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and said, "About twelve-hundred pounds at a deadlift."  
  
Her jaw dropped.  
  
Khan grinned. "Five times what a normal man can lift, if he has training in weight-lifting. I rarely use the full strength I carry, though."  
  
Anthea thought about how gentle he was with Nolan, realised how careful he was with _her_ , even with playing rough. "Wow."  
  
Together, they worked to empty the containers. She'd stuffed every nook and cranny with things she'd thought they'd need: blankets, MREs, small first-aid kits, camping equipment of varying sorts, even phaser rifles.  
  
Khan had to laugh when he found two of the containers held motorcycles, the non-hovering kind. They ran on modern tech, though, and she had containers of the needed fuel, as well, the pods shoved into the very back of each cargo container.  
  
"You seem to have thought of everything," he said.  
  
"I tried. It was sort of, well, I would see something and think, 'We could use that'. So I'd get my hands on it and pack it away. It kept me busy, kept me from going mad while I hunted for you. I knew I would find you eventually, I just didn't know how long it would take. And when you're good at redirecting Starfleet resources, as well as those of Section 31, you can acquire a _lot_."  
  
Every free space of the clearing was cluttered now, whether with supplies or a cryo-tube with a sleeping crew member in it. Anthea set about cleaning up some of the chaos, while Khan checked the vitals of each of his "family". Nolan played in his pen with his favourite teddy bear, the one his grandmum had given him on her last visit.  
  
"Who are you going to revive first?"  
  
Khan looked up from the cryotube he'd paused beside. "Kati. My sister."  
  
"She really is your sister?"  
  
He nodded. "Genetically, I'm not completely sure, but we share the same surrogate birth mother and were raised together. Her nameis Khatri, but when I was two, I could not pronounce it. Kati stuck, at least for me.”  
  
“Isn’t your first name actually a surname?” Anthea asked.  
  
Her husband gave a jerk of his head. “Sarina Kaur was an adventurous woman, giving us names that, according to caste, religion, and other factors, should not go together. Our names both mean ‘ruler’. Her full name is Khatri Abhaya Kaur."  
  
He gestured to the tube he stood by, and Anthea moved over to join him. As she watched, he keyed in the sequence to open the cryotube and revive its occupant.  
  
The panel slid open. The comatose woman inside had black hair and heavy, black brows, her skin somewhat darker than Khan’s. There were enough resemblances, in the narrow face and wide-set eyes, though, that Anthea knew they shared _some_ genetics.  
  
“I suspect our mother was the same, but not our fathers,” Khan confessed, as they waited. “All of her research was destroyed along with her lab, when it exploded and she was killed. I barely remember her, in all honesty, and have no emotional attachment to her any longer. But her research? That I desperately wish I had.”  
  
In the cryotube, Kati gasped, her back arched, and she began to seize. Anthea fumbled with her medical scanner. “She’s having a seizure,” she said.  
  
His expression didn’t change. He merely lifted Kati by her shoulders, dragged her out of the pod, and laid her out on the ground, waiting until the convulsions stopped.  
  
“I should probably mention that Kati is . . . different than the others. She is fast, strong, intelligent, yes, but . . . something went wrong. She has a form of epilepsy that first appeared when she was two. That was what our mother was working on when she was killed. She shifted her focus from genetics, and worked on a cure for Kati. But this was during the Eugenics Wars, and . . . things were competitive, shall we say? Her lab was bombed before a cure was found.”  
  
“Have you tried fixing her with your blood?” Anthea asked, as she knelt beside the prone woman. “If it could cure Lucille Harewood, surely it can help Kati.”  
  
“No. Not yet. Things were . . . different in the twentieth century. I was, honestly, not aware that I had that ability. It is, by the way, one I suspect only I possess.” He glanced over to where their son babbled at his toy. “Until now.”  
  
“So you’re not all the same.”  
  
He shook his head. “No. We have a basic set of like abilities: speed, strength, etcetera. But we also have different skill sets and genetic quirks.”  
  
“But none of you can fly, right?” She asked it mostly as a joke.  
  
Khan glanced over, smirked. “That is one ability none of us possess, no.”  
  
On the ground, Kati’s eyes flickered open. They were dark brown, nearly black, and unfocused. After a moment, that changed. She saw Khan, and gave him a weak smile.  
  
“I thought I heard your voice,” she croaked. “Khan.”  
  
“Kati.” He gave her a wide, genuine grin. “How do you feel?”  
  
She licked her lips, pulled a face, and tried to sit up. When she couldn’t, she grimaced. “I had a seizure again, didn’t I?”  
  
“You did. But I have found a way to fix that,” he told her.  
  
Kati’s dark gaze shifted to Anthea. Immediately, the other woman tensed. “Who is she? I do not know her.”  
  
“Nor should you,” her brother said. “This is Anthea. Thea, I would like you to meet Kati, my sister. Kati, my wife Anthea.”  
  
Kati nearly gave herself whiplash, so fast did she wrench around to gape at her brother. “What?!”  
  
“You have missed much.” Khan helped her sit, and handed her a water bottle. “Drink this, slowly.”  
  
As Kati sipped the water, Khan explained how he’d been awakened and manipulated by Alexander Marcus, how he’d met Anthea. He told her of his second hibernation, and of Anthea’s rescue of all of them.  
  
“I owe you, then,” Kati said. Her voice was still a little raspy.  
  
“No,” Anthea said. “You don’t owe me anything. I did it out of love for your brother, and my son.”  
  
Kati’s gaze went back to Khan. He nodded and took the bottle from her.  
  
“Anthea and I have a son. He’s a year old.”  
  
His sister frowned. “It is 2260, you said?”  
  
“Yes. And we are on a planet we intend to colonize. You are the first of our people we have woken.”  
  
Over in his pen, Nolan yelled for his mother. Anthea excused herself and went to see to him. As she picked up her son, she glanced back at her husband and his sister, watched as Khan helped Kati to her feet. The siblings embraced.  
  
Kati didn’t seem angry that her brother had married a “normal” woman. So far, so good. It was, she decided a decent place to start a new life.  
  
Nolan reached up and patted her cheek. Anthea caught his little hand and kissed his palm. He giggled and said, “Mama!”  
  
She kissed his forehead. “C’mon, sweetie. Come and meet your new family.”  
  
Then she carried him across the clearing to where her husband waited.  
  
\--end--


End file.
